


Classificatory Matters

by Star_less



Series: The Jasmine Dragon Era (A Classification ‘Verse) [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Agni Kai (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bed-Wetting, Bedtime Stories, Blink and you'll miss it, Book 1 Episode 12: "The Storm", Bubble Bath, Caregiver Katara, Caregiver Sokka, Classification AU, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Diapers, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Embarrassment, Episode: s02e07 Zuko Alone, Episode: s02e18 The Earth King, Episode: s03e12 The Western Air Temple, Episode: s03e14-15 The Boiling Rock, Episode: s03e17 The Ember Island Players, Family Fluff, Firebending Mentor Zuko, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Mush, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Inspired by Fanart, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Little Sokka, Little Zuko - Freeform, Littles Are Known, M/M, Metamorphosis, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Sokka/Suki, Non-Sexual Age Play, Omorashi, Omutsu, Pacifier usage, Pacifiers, Platonically, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Punishment, References to Illness, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Soap Punishment, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, Storytelling, Stuffed Toys, The Jasmine Dragon (Avatar), Time Skips, To Be Edited, Wetting, Woobie, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, alternate universe - littles are known, at least in later chapters, bottle feeding, coaxed into peeing, diaper changes, diaper wetting, follows canon loosely, friendship fluff, his stuffed animal talks, in earlier chapters, it's gonna be fluff and baby and pee, it's pretty tame omorashi though, not much of a plot tbh, nothing advances the plot here whatsoever, nsap, poor Sokka, pre canon elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: …it is complete, Prince Zuko.” said the nurse. She wasn’t smiling. Her smile had dripped down her cheeks. She indicated the pit in front of him; the fire swelled and disappeared only to then fill rapidly with water, the clearest water he had ever seen. Zuko peered timidly down at his reflection. It rippled softly.The blue-green of the pit was now coursing up through his arms, albeit faintly – and there, rippling with him, high on his shoulder, was an upside-down heart with a line through the tail.Prince Zuko, the heir to the throne, was a Little.Every citizen across every nation is classified into one of three: Little, Caregiver, Baseline. As royalty and heir to the throne Prince Zuko's classification is pulled forward. Zuko had his life mapped out in front of him; a journey which changes course when he's classified as a Little - a decision which clashes with his father's insistence he come out as Baseline.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Jasmine Dragon Era (A Classification ‘Verse) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927978
Comments: 198
Kudos: 300





	1. Classification One: Zuko

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a conversation w/ a friend and some super adorable artwork that I had to write about. So me being me, I wrote my little fics about their art... and then thought hmmm I don't like that this doesn't have an explanation. So what was initially six chapters long at best is now seventeen! Yeah! In fact it was sixteen but I keep getting new ideas on how to expand this fic so!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko gets Classified first, and early at that.

“Prince Zuko, are you ready?”

It was always Prince Zuko, never just Zuko or—or kid or _son_. Zuko mumbled, shifting and nodding at his father. “Yes. I am ready. I have been ready for this day since I was born.” He obediently parroted. It wasn’t really a lie, after all. Everybody across all the nations got Classified at some point in their lives. Usually, for all the commoners, this was at the age of sixteen. But Zuko was the Prince, heir to the throne, and so he needed to be classified as young as possible so the necessary arrangements could be made before he ascended the throne. At thirteen Zuko was unsure as to how he could ever be classified as anything other than a Baseline, anyway. He could barely take care of himself, never mind somebody else. And—and _sure_ , he still wished he had a stuffed animal at night, sort of, and sometimes—sometimes his thumb crept into his mouth and stayed there but—but what was so bad about that? That didn’t make him a—

a--

\--Besides - the entirety of Zuko’s bloodline had emerged as Baselines. The only exception was his mother, a Caregiver. Somehow it made a whole lot of sense to Zuko. She was the one who had taught him to be delicate and respectful and squeezed him lovingly if he ever scraped his knees before he had the chance to even think of crying. His father was a different story. He seemed not to have a paternal bone in his body but cared very little for anyone other than himself unless it concerned his reputation. Zuko had never spent so much time with his father all his life. But as the date of his classification loomed, his father hadn’t been out of his sight. There were secret meetings, there were uncomfortably-stern talks, there were thinly-veiled threats as if he could ensure Zuko came out Classified to his liking through sheer fear. Regardless—regardless, it meant he was going to come out as a Baseline or a Caregiver, didn’t it? And- and that wasn’t so bad?

His father nodded, steely. “…You will come out of this a Baseline, like your father,” he said – as if it was Zuko’s choice as if he could ask for his DNA to be rewritten to ensure the chain of Baselines carried on uninterrupted.

Zuko nodded again. “Yes, father,” he murmured, shrunk under his father’s glare and squirming. “…but what if—what if I don’t?” His voice came out all alien, tight, like nothing he had ever heard before. As much as his father went on about coming out as Baseline he hadn’t actually suggested what would have happened if this wasn’t the case.  
His father’s face changed. His eyes glinted and he went this funny shade of white. “Do you think otherwise?” he asked. His voice could’ve cut through steel it was so sharp, and Zuko jumped seeing the faintest wisps of light and fire fizzle around his fingers. Would he dare? No, he—he couldn’t. Not his heir to the throne, not—not his son…?  
“…You think you’re going to disgrace your family like this?”

Zuko swallowed back nausea that flowered in his stomach, squirming, his head shaking frantically without him realising. “No!” he stammered, backing away, hands coming up to protect himself. “No, of course, I’m going to be a Baseline, it—it was just a question!”  
Ozai sank. “Hm.” He smiled, but it was ugly and twisted and made something tug in Zuko’s belly. “Good. You have six days.”  
~

“Prince Zuko, it is wonderful to meet you. Welcome to your classification.”

Zuko looked up, timid, swallowing back a thorny ball of nausea. Oh, he wished father hadn't sent him here alone or forbade Mom from coming.  
That said, he had no real reason to be fearful. The nurse staring down at him was about as far away from threatening as she could get; the reedy sort of tall, with short, chopped black hair that framed her thin face. She had a gleaming pink smile that comfortingly shone down upon him. Her thin frame was covered by a crepe-y crinoline skirt – peach – and she wore a matching pointed hat with the Fire Nation insignia on it as well as an ‘+’.  
Although she was smiling, Zuko wasn’t comforted. He tore his gaze away, trying to look around her, although infuriatingly she seemed to know which way he was going to turn and blocked his view. He just barely got a glimpse of what faced him ahead (a stone well) before she blocked him off.

“…There’s no need to worry now, Prince Zuko.” She smiled, offering her hand as though Zuko was a tiny toddler. Standing here, right now, he was unashamed to admit he almost felt that way – so sick, so fearful, he could have cried – and as she waggled her fingers invitingly, it took a surprising amount of willpower for him not to take them. Nevertheless, she set off, toward this mysterious well, and Zuko had no choice but to follow. “Thirteen, hm? You’re the youngest I’ve ever had to classify officially! Usually, we wait at least two years longer. But your father suggested it was imperative.” 

Zuko wasn’t listening. His attention had been captured by the pennants that hung high from the ceilings. Three in total, each with a bizarre insignia. The first, a spiral with a dot toward the right, Zuko knew well. His mother had the same, bumpy, on the back of her right hand. The mark of a caregiver. The second, a cross with four dots where the lines intersected, Zuko also knew well: the mark of a baseline, on the back of his father’s neck. Though his father had been classified long ago it always looked as though it were freshly tattooed on his skin, which Zuko found odd.  
The third was the only insignia Zuko had never seen before; a wilted heart-shaped mark – upside down - with a line crossing through the tail.  
The mark of a Little.  
“…here we are, Prince Zuko,” smiled the classification nurse as she drew him into the room with the well.

“What am I supposed to do?” Zuko asked if only to delay the process for a few moments longer. It seemed easy enough. There were four stepping stones, two on the ground, two suspended in midair. Mom had always told him it was no more a bother than getting a checkup; stand on the stones, wait, and then the well would reveal your classification. It was a total contradiction to the stories Azula had tormented him with. Her stories usually involved him being engulfed by flames and left a sooty husk of a boy.

“You just stand there,” the nurse indicated the stepping stones. “One foot there, the other there. One hand here.”

He dutifully did as he was told, trembling, stood there for what felt like five long minutes but was only a handful of seconds. The stones beneath his feet began to pulse warmly, and then shortly after that the stone beneath his flattened palm pulsed too. Zuko didn’t turn his head (‘keep still and straight, there now’) but just barely on his peripheral vision he saw the nurse, now grim-faced and serious, face twisted in the light like a gargoyle. The well in front of him had also begun to pulse and glow with warmth – oddly not rippled red fire but blue-green light, pale.  
It was not a well at all. Zuko didn’t know what it was.

“Hand out, please,” said the nurse, although didn’t give him much of a chance to react as she ripped it away from the stone panel and waited, keeping him hovering, as in front of them the blue-green circle pulsed. Then it grew in intensity, like a monster, great leaping blue-green flames that snapped at him – and the nurse thrust his hand into the open mouth of the flames.  
Zuko jerked back driven by instinct, whimpers tearing themselves from between his gritted teeth – but as he twisted and tried to tug free the nurse kept a tight grip on his wrist, cutting off his ability to move, to escape.  
His heart raced, watching as the flames continued to devour his wrist. What would be there in its place when he was finally freed? He squirmed again, eyes squeezed tight in discomfort. Oh, how he wished his mother was here. Would she have found it as painful? She loved him, would she not have warned him of the pain?  
…But to his surprise, he began to realise how it didn’t hurt at all – just that he had expected it to hurt. It was simply warm, maybe the tiniest of stings, but nothing he wasn’t used to; many a summertime afternoon had Azula pushed him into the holly bushes on the perimeter of the palace gardens. And as quickly as the nurse had gripped his wrist she had let it go again.  
Gasping in discomfort he took his hand back, noticing the ache radiating in a ring around his wrist – but as he turned his hand over he realised… there was nothing there.  
He turned his hand again, palm upwards.  
Nothing.  
He looked to the insides of his wrists.  
Nothing. Nothing there. His heart missed a beat. What did this mean? Was he a baseline after all? No, but—but even Dad Maybe there—maybe there was nothing, no Littlespace, no Caregiving? Oh, imagine that.  
“…it is complete, Prince Zuko.” said the nurse. She wasn’t smiling. Her smile had dripped down her cheeks. She indicated the pit in front of him; the fire swelled and disappeared only to then fill rapidly with water, the clearest water he had ever seen. Zuko peered timidly down at his reflection. It rippled softly.  
The blue-green of the pit was now coursing up through his arms, albeit faintly – and there, rippling with him, high on his shoulder, was an upside-down heart with a line through the tail. 

Prince Zuko, the heir to the throne, was a _Little_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I kinda cheated you there cos the baby stuff doesn't show up yet but it WILL!!!! I promise! I'll add it all in as I go! It'll be fun! I'm gonna post a chapter a day so it'll be all done in two weeks time!!  
> Comment me, kudos me, bookmark me, throw rotten apples at me... etc etc. But pleeeease give this a chance!  
> Mwah x


	2. Classification Two: Sokka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Sokka, classification couldn't have gone any easier. Sometimes, Classification was something you just... knew. And everybody knew what Sokka was, before Sokka himself did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's Sokka's turn! No guesses as to his Classification, hm?

As far as Sokka was concerned, Classification couldn't have gone any easier. Sometimes, someone's Classification was something you just... knew. Sokka was definitely one of those people who could've been classified years before his time. As much as he tried to hide it, tried to play the 'big and strong' act for his little sister, he was a Little through and through. 

"Sokka, your classification is in five minutes, you're going to be late!" Katara shouted in the direction of the stairs. 

If there was no doubt as to Sokka's classification he was sure there was even less doubt as to Katara's – and she wasn't due to be classified until next year. Then again, he supposed she was being a bit overdramatic. "Okay, Katara!" he called – even though he knew his voice would be a bit muffled – as, sunk back against the bathroom door he gave his stuffed animal another tight squeeze, making sure to breathe in that softly familiar scent he loved so much. It was a ratty old thing now, Polar Bear - his once-white fur grey and clumpy from cuddles, his limbs saggy, but Sokka loved him. He was a reminder of Mom, of when Sokka was small and blissful and unconcerned about the world and a cuddle on her lap with Polar Bear in hand was enough to stop the bad dreams.   
Gran-Gran had even knitted him a tiny Water Tribe uniform, on Sokka's insistence, although by now it was threadbare and moth-eaten; his stuffing-bloated belly bursting out through the faded blue stitches. Dad always teased him, said he'd be the first Water Tribe warrior to carry around a stuffed animal when they retaliated against the Fire Nation, but it was all good-natured. He would do his chores and train with Dad and so long as he was good, the rest of the time he could indulge his not-so-secret Littlespace. With Mom, a caregiver, Gran-Gran, also a caregiver, Katara unclassified but blatantly a caregiver and Dad a baseline his Littlespace was seen as fact, classified or not, and was treated with the same level of concern as a freckle on his face.  
But then…   
then Mom…   
\-- and Dad—  
Dad decided to go away too, to fight his part in the Hundred Year War and, well, there was no time for Sokka to cuddle up with his stuffed animal, not when he had his younger sister to look after. Not all the time, anyway. It meant he had to get used to hidden-away five-second cuddles, or cuddles pressed tight against his bedtime blankets where Katara couldn't see.   
…Sitting up, Sokka tentatively tightened the tabs of the diaper he was wearing, noting blissfully that he was still dry. Oh yeah, that was the other uncomfortable little problem. Mom dying and Dad leaving forced Sokka to look after Katara and the other tribe duties, and that made Sokka have some really weird dreams. Weird, terrifying dreams that meant more often than not he would wake up in a puddle and have to trudge wet-footed around the house to find a new set of clothes. It had gotten to the point where Sokka was dead on his feet that Gran-Gran said, 'enough' and – oh the humiliation – she had made him wear diapers.   
Actual diapers.   
Diapers he had seen all the newborn water tribe babies wear.   
Terrytowel diapers with a little teeny-weeny wetness strip of lemurs and sky bison and tiny sticky tabs. First, she had been quite nice about it, then considerably less nice (involving one gritted-out threat of paddling) and then Sokka had given in.   
It… it wasn't so bad. Kinda just felt like pants. He had to be the grown-up and change himself if he was wet, anyway, 'specially cause Dad wasn't around. 'Sides, it meant he couldn't be too Little, 'cause it wasn't like he could ask Gran-Gran or Katara for help. Maybe that would change his Classification results...? Maybe they'd think he was pretty grown-up.   
He tugged his pants a little bit higher over his diaper and hummed to himself. Well, now it was time to find out!  
~

"…D'you think I'm gonna be a Little?" Sokka asked Katara as they trudged across town. He was chewing nervously at one mittened hand. 

"Yes. And that's okay." No hesitation. She smiled warmly. "Gran-Gran showed me how to make up bottles. You'll be fine."

"…wish Dad was here…" Sokka mumbled. The Classification hut was in the distance now, the big blue 'X' visible on the cone roof. 

Katara squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. "I bet he wishes he was here too. He wouldn't want to miss out on this."  
It was tough. Moreso, perhaps, because Katara was too young to be Classified; it was a mystical, potentially-scary process for both of them, and she had no way of alleviating his fears. Gran-Gran had spoken briefly about the process, lifted her collar to show the scar, a spiral with a dot to the right that wasn't unlike the water tribe symbol, promised the pair of them as Sokka anxiously awaited his call to be Classified that it wasn't a painful process whatsoever, that the mark would appear somewhere on your body so long as you did as you were told and held your hand beneath the stream, and that was that. But Gran-Gran was a grown-up and both Katara and Sokka knew all too well that sometimes grownups concealed the truth from you.   
It might've meant a little more coming from Dad too, but he didn't talk about classification itself, just promised he'd support both siblings no matter what classification they returned with. And then left.  
"…you'll be fine, Sokka," Katara said again, if only for something to say, "Mom, Dad, and Gran-Gran all got through classification just great."

Sokka didn't answer. He was quiet, shifting now and then, and still chewing anxiously at his mitten. 

"…you're gonna chew a hole through your mittens, Sokka, stop it," Katara giggled. She didn't mean it. Not if it was what he needed right now. 

Sokka whined softly. He didn't stop. The classification centre loomed.  
~

"Sokka, from the Southern Water Tribe, yes?" asked the nurse with a smile, looking down at her clipboard. "Ah, you're Kanna's grandson!"   
Jeez, Gran-Gran knew _everybody_. Sokka blushed and nodded.  
"Your sister has to wait here, I'm afraid. Darling, just sit there, would you?" she asked of Katara, gesturing to a small sofa that neither sibling had paid any attention to beforehand. There was a tall white lotus in a flowerpot next to it.   
Biting her lip Katara sat stiffly on the sofa, watching Sokka's every move, wishing there was some loophole that meant she could join him. "But…" she stammered hesitantly. 

"I'm sorry, you two, but this is law. Sokka, follow me, please?" the nurse smiled encouragingly, gesturing with her free hand to a set of double doors up ahead.  
Sokka followed, nervous, trying not to chew at his hand again now that he was here, and here being judged nonetheless. The closer he got to the double doors the more sure he was of the sound of running water somewhere behind them. He glanced back at Katara, fear bright in his eyes… but the nurse ushered him through the doors and separated him from his sister for what was the first time in ages. 

Sokka's heart was racing all frenetic and fierce as the double doors shut behind him; his gaze went around the room, drinking it in with all the curiosity of a small child, but he kept himself pressed flush against the door. The handles dug uncomfortably into his back but he found it comforting. He could escape if he needed.   
Nevertheless, he couldn't stop a flush of pride sweeping through his body at the realisation his intuition was correct. The room was bare aside from a large flowing waterfall that trickled down in a little sheet from the back wall. There was a large basin shape where the water flowed in, foaming as it splashed against the stones. The water was so clear it sparkled. It was pretty.

"…Stand here." The nurse was pointing towards two foot-shaped indents in the floor. "Then put your hands in the water." 

"Um," mumbled Sokka, "I- I'm not a waterbender. I think... I think you got the wrong guy."

The nurse laughed at him in that way you would laugh at a toddler who had told a joke that wasn't particularly funny. "I don't need you to waterbend, darling, just hold your hands under the water for me."

Sokka fidgeted nervously, feeling unsure and just a bit foolish. He put his feet where he was told and it was as though the floor molded around his feet. Then, slowly, he cupped his hands and submerged them. To his surprise the water was warm much like a bath – but there was a new sensation - it tingled up and down every finger and slowly branched out to the tops of his arms before coming to a gentle stop.  
He giggled, a little spat out and hysterical, but when the nurse put her hand on his shoulder the tension drained from his body. "…It tickles!"  
After only a few more seconds with his hands beneath the water, the sensation stopped entirely and the nurse had moved her hand; Sokka took this as permission to move his hands too. They were dripping wet.   
Sokka looked around for something to wipe his hands on but found nothing. He shrugged and wiped them on his t-shirt instead – taking a moment to hunt out his classification mark. Hm. There was nothing on his hands or arms.   
The nurse was looking, too. She tugged back his collar when he nodded but there was nothing there. "Kanna's mark was on her neck. You're breaking tradition, young man." she frowned, situating his collar in place again. She said it like it was something he should’ve been proud of, even if Sokka hadn’t really done anything. He fidgeted, feeling embarrassed.   
She was scrutinising him now, gaze sharpened, slowly circling. She tugged his arms, she made him flip each hand and flex each finger, made him hike his pants up to get a closer look at the front and back of his legs, but still, there was nothing. "Tummy," she said at last, decisively.   
Sokka was scorching red but obediently rolled up his shirt. There, on the right side of his tummy, was the upside-down heart with a line through the tail.   
The nurse smiled. "…a Little! Wonderful."

"Katara! Katara look!" Sokka gleamed excitedly, lifting his shirt. "I'm a Little!"

It was no surprise to his sister, but he was so pleased with himself she couldn't help but squeal and hug him tightly, jumping up the second she heard his voice. "I knew it!"

"Gran-Gran'll make the really good dinner tonight," Sokka nodded, happiness radiating in his face.   
The two siblings left the classification centre chatting to one another happily enough, so much so that the hefty trek home… didn't seem so much of a hefty trek any more. 

"What was it like?" Katara whispered. She supposed she had no need to whisper now that they were away from the classification centre but couldn't help herself. It all felt like so much of a mystery.

Sokka giggled. "Easy. You go into this big stone room, and there's a waterfall that runs into this big bowl – like, _kkkssshh_! – and she – the nurse – tells you to put your feet on the floor and you put your hands into the water and it's all warm like being in the bathtub and it kinda tingles all over your hands and arms and then, boom. Classified."   
He hesitated, wrinkling his nose and fidgeting his weight foot to foot just slightly. "…listening to all that water kinda made me need to go to the bathroom, though."

Katara listened with interest, giggling. "Okay, we can pick up the pace, Sokka."

"No," Sokka flushed crimson, "I, um, I don't gotta go any more."

Katara giggled again. Oh, Sokka. "Okay, well, you have a change, right?" 

Sokka nodded. He always snuck a few spares with him in his messenger bag 'cause Gran-Gran practically expired if he didn't and, well, Katara didn't disagree with her either. "I'll be quick. I wanna get home in time for dinner." He whined. Then stopped. "…Katara, do you really think Dad'll be proud of me?" He fiddled with the strap of his bag. "For my classification?"

Katara nodded. "Sokka, he knew you were Little before _you_ knew you were Little. Of course he'd be proud."

Sokka beamed, shyly. He hoped so.


	3. Balance (Gummy Lotus Flowers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko's father learns of Zuko's classification. Banished and in pursuit of the Avatar as penance, Zuko acts out; although can't piece together why. Iroh intervenes.
> 
> _“Have you come here to gloat?” Zuko asked sourly. His head and stomach pounded in unison with one another still._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said this was originally six chapters long? Yeah, it goes from 0-100 real quick, pacing wise. ^^;
> 
> I can't remember how many chapters loosely follow canon, I think there's two more. :P

Zuko scrubbed at the heart on his shoulder for the third time in half an hour despite how ineffective it was; the skin beneath bloomed an angry shade of red but the heart-shaped mark didn’t budge an inch.   
He looked to his other shoulder, where he had spent time -- painstakingly slow time – inking a little dotted cross so that his father would be fooled into thinking he was a baseline. The ink was fading now after he had raked a nail scrubber across it.   
Course it hadn’t worked. He was stupid enough to think otherwise. His father knew because of course he would know. Zuko had stood there in front of him, trembling into a puddle he was so scared, hiking up the sleeve on his left shoulder to reveal the cross and dots. “I’m a Baseline, father,” he murmured to the floor, toes tight in his shoes. “…just like you.”

“…look at me,” said his father. “Zuko, look at me!” 

He said it so softly and so gently that Zuko’s heart squeezed. He was proud. 

He looked up, eyes glimmering, the edges of a smile appearing on his face. 

“Do you take me for an idiot, Zuko? I know all about your classification. I know you’re lying to me. I know you’re a Little.” He advanced toward his son, his voice rising steadily. “What was it we agreed on, Zuko? Tell me.”

Zuko felt as though all of his breath had been tugged out of his lungs. He tried to heave in big gulps of air then, trembling, tried to speak, backing away as his father moved in on him. They were closer than face to face. Zuko could feel his father’s breaths and spit and anger against his cheeks. “I- I said I’d be a Baseline,” he squeaked out, his eyes wet despite pleading with himself no, don’t cry, don’t give him another reason to be angry at you. His heart thudded in his chest so hard and so fast it hurt. 

“Our bloodline is almost entirely Baseline, Zuko. You promised me. You promised this entire nation you would come out as such.”

“I- I know, father, I know!” Zuko murmured, dropping to his knees and pleading. But the truth of the matter was that he didn’t know. He didn’t know how he was supposed to cheat his classification or how he would ever rectify this with his father. “I tried. I tried my hardest.” 

“There is only one way I see fit for you to settle the matter.” He smirked, and in the low orange firelight, it was a twisted smirk. Zuko gulped. 

The Agni-Kai.  
~

Zuko rubbed at his scar, peering at himself in the mirror. The skin around it was tight but it didn’t hurt any more, not as it did at first.   
After his classification had deemed him a failure in the eyes of his father and he had failed to redeem himself with the Agni Kai, Zuko had been exiled and was under the care of his Uncle Iroh. But it was fine. It was fine because all he had to do was capture the Avatar. Capture the Avatar and—and ignore his Littlespace entirely, forever, for the entire rest of his life. Easy. 

…Easier said than done, that is.   
~

The rest of his men, onboard that Fire Nation ship, not one of them cared about him. Not one of them respected him as their leader or saw him on the same level as them. All they saw in him was the very thing he tried so hard to keep hidden away.   
It had started raining, and feeling the first droplets slide onto his shoulders, Zuko was boiling over. Uncle was right about the poor weather and oh, how it frustrated him. It made his stomach clench and roll as much as the sea was right now. He had felt this before, but not to this intensity. Not to the point of wanting to scream and kick and wail like a toddler being denied an extra cookie after dinner. 

“Zuko, we should s—” 

Uncle, uncle’s hand on his shoulder. Zuko threw it off, near hissing. “We _don’t_ stop. We don’t _divert_. The safety of the crew isn’t important.” He was so close, and it was so, so unfair that everyone wanted to pull this away from him, take away his chance of regaining his honour.   
The rain picked up as he spoke, thick wet droplets sheeting down from the darkened sky. He trembled in anger, his teeth grit into one another, his breath hot from shouting.

“…looks like your uncle was right about the weather, huh?”  
A smirk. Why Zuko wanted them chasing the Avatar in this state, Jee didn’t know. Regardless, it felt nice to dig the boot in just a little. The kid was so smug on times. 

“Lieutenant!” Zuko whirled around on his feet, jabbing his fingers in Jee’s chest. His mind had gone blank, white-hot with rage – and still, he trembled. Still the urge to jump up and down and scream and kick and do everything a toddler would do in the face of injustice, and somehow that made the pounding anger in his stomach even worse. “You—you need to learn some respect!” He near enough foamed at the mouth, jabbing his finger into Jee’s chest with every word. It was almost as if he was coming free from his body, aware he was speaking but filled with too much anger to process what he was saying. 

“What do you know about respect?” Jee laughed the words out, voice cool and calm compared to Zuko’s flyaway anger. “Caring for no one except yourself. You’re just a spoiled child.”

Zuko’s entire face flooded red, tight and twisted with anger. Still trembling, he felt heat collect in his fingertips; he let it roll forth, smoke coming in thick plumes. A child?! He’d show him a child. Especially after he won the Agni-Kai and Jee was a crying, pathetic wilted mess before him. He growled in frustration, drawing one hand back to firebend. 

“Enough!” Iroh snapped, diving in between the two. He knew what this was. The young prince had struggled with his classification ever since his father rejected him but that didn’t mean he was adept in holding it back any. After all, your classification was innate, was biological. To hold it back would be like trying not to blink; not impossible, perhaps, but certainly uncomfortable – and you would always give in eventually. Unfortunately, the young prince hadn’t quite found peace with this not-so-new side of himself just yet, and these Littlespace-fuelled outbursts were becoming all the more common now that the Avatar had made his return. Still, Iroh tried his hardest. There was nothing that said Zuko couldn’t be a Little and go chasing after the Avatar should that be what his destiny asked of him, after all. It just concerned balance.   
He had started as small and as inconspicuous as he could think of: tea, before bed, in a cup with a spout. Or perhaps a small blanket? Something so small, so insignificant it satiated his buried-deep need to be Little?  
But Zuko had refused.   
Iroh paid it no mind. Zuko would come to terms with his classification when he was ready. It was just going to be a rocky ride watching him get there.  
~

“…maybe he’s right, you know.” Iroh clasped his hands together, striding back and forth in Zuko’s private chambers. 

“Have you come here to gloat?” Zuko asked sourly. He was pressed tight against the back wall, curled up into himself. His head and stomach pounded in unison with one another still. He had cried a little eventually, cried and hit and kicked out, but to his frustration, it did nothing to abate the cloudy, far away sensation in his head; it had only made it worse. He rubbed his gnawing stomach absent mindedly.

“You know too little about respect, Prince Zuko.” Iroh closed his eyes. “The way you use your words is proof of that. Perhaps it is something I will have to teach you.”

Zuko’s gaze snapped up to face his Uncle, new fire in his belly. “Go on. Do it!” He spat, fists clenched in the defensive position immediately as he got to his feet. Uncle wanted an Agni-Kai? Like Father? Uncle would get an Agni-Kai. Something tugging in the back of his head reminded him that it was inevitable, that Uncle too would have turned against him, and here he was. 

Iroh shook his head. If Zuko thought he was going to resort to such methods, they hadn’t spent enough time together. “You will sit there.” He said. “And you will wait.”

Despite himself, Zuko sat. He didn’t know why. Part of him wanted to defy Uncle, to jump up and run away and pull a stupid little face at him until he got really, really angry – maybe even as angry as Father. But another part of him was tired and couldn’t see what he would achieve in doing that.   
So Zuko sat, eyes aching with tiredness, and he waited.   
When Uncle returned, he was holding what appeared to be a blue lotus flower. Zuko looked with interest at it, his eyes wide. Sometimes Uncle got these really nice gummy sweets that looked like lotus flowers. Sure, sometimes they kinda tasted like perfume, but they were good. What did gummy lotus flowers have to do with anything? Did he deserve a treat right now? 

“You will open your mouth,” said Iroh, and this time he kneeled to his nephew’s level. He held the blue lotus flower between thumb and forefinger and when the trembling Zuko opened his mouth slightly, he placed the lotus flower halfway into his mouth. “And you will hold still for five minutes and think about the effect your words have, young one. Only then will you learn to be respectful.”

Soap. Uncle hadn’t given him a gummy lotus flower at all – he had given him soap. Zuko whimpered around the knobbled disc that rested against his tongue, foam quickly building inside his mouth and dribbling out at the edges. It tasted like… _blechkt_. Lavender and mint flavoured foam.   
It was enough to make him want to gag, to spit the soap out across the room - but Zuko didn’t. Hell - he couldn’t argue back even if he wanted to, as his tongue had to fight through the lather in his mouth. Instead, he closed his eyes, dug his hands flat against the floor, and sat patiently. The tang in his mouth was inescapable but, weirdly, Zuko kinda relished it. Finally, after being at boiling point all day, the pounding in his stomach and head was dissipating. It was as though he had finally allowed his Littlespace to poke out from where he kept it so tightly hidden away, relishing that he was being put in his place by his elder, as he should have been – as the child he was. All the while Iroh stayed with him, saying nothing but remaining a continuous presence, occasionally counting down the minutes.   
When the five minutes were up, Iroh slung his hand just below Zuko’s mouth, allowing him to spit the bar of soap into it. It didn’t much look like a lotus anymore – rather an uneven glob of spitty soapsuds. The sour tang of perfume-y soap remained, and Zuko grimaced as he pressed his lips together.   
“…It won’t go away,” he near-whined. Uncle said nothing, taking the soap away, and Zuko sniffed as he sat there. Now his head felt a lot clearer, he knew he had to apologise to Uncle. His stomach rolled with shame.   
Uncle entered again, this time with a cup of water. He kneeled as he had earlier, held the cup experimentally toward Zuko’s lips but retreating when Zuko took it from him, gulping the entire glass of water down in four big mouthfuls. “Thank you, Uncle,” he said at last, soft and plaintive, a far cry from the angry teenager he had been an hour or so prior. He smacked his lips together again. “…but it’s still tangy!”

“It will be,” said Iroh, the tiniest of wry smiles on his face. “How else are you supposed to learn a lesson on how to use your words?”

Zuko ducked, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. 

Iroh nodded. “…You are forgiven, young one.”  
Punishment wasn’t something Iroh liked. Prince Zuko had been punished more than enough in his short sixteen years, and regardless of Zuko’s position as a classified Little Iroh thought it not his place to punish him, especially corporally. This incident was (perhaps paradoxically) not about the punishment for Iroh, though. It was about Zuko’s current mindset and what would get through to him. This time, it had worked. “Your men are still in pursuit of the Avatar for you, although it’s still storming.”

It was only then that Zuko tuned in to the wild rocking of the ship and, gasping, rose to his feet. “No we—we need to divert. It’s not safe. We will have to pursue the Avatar along a different route.” Rubbing his temple, Zuko swept out. “We need to head for the eye of the storm,” he addressed his men, voice firm and thundering so Iroh heard him despite not yet moving from Zuko’s quarters. 

Iroh smiled to himself.

All was settled for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...really though. Zuko in this episode was cryyyying out for a spanking or something, wasn't he? Don't say no, he _so_ was.   
> I stand by my point that Iroh would never want to physically punish Zuko though. As much as I'd adore a spanking fic. Somebody write one please!


	4. Never Forget Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The walls were sage green, thin matchstick trees clustered in each corner, with a little line of waddling turtleducks wandering beside one another, sat inside a border on the wall._
> 
> Travelling alone, Zuko meets a Little. Taking on a new identity, he tentatively awakens what's buried deep inside of him.

Speckles came in at the corners of Zuko’s vision as he strode on with his ostrich horse, and at the same time, his empty stomach clenched. Travelling alone, in pursuit of a destiny that was unhampered by his uncle, was quickly becoming an issue – but now, when he had ventured so far into the Earth Kingdom, he knew there was no turning back. Still, that didn’t stop the unwelcome claw in the back of his head that reminded him of Uncle, that Uncle would be able to find him a decent meal – something that wasn’t just squashed berries and mouldy segments of fruit. That was without this uncomfortable new sensation tucked into the back of his brain – that sensation that he was balancing on a tightrope between being his adult self and slipping into upset Littlespace. He was so weak and tired out he could barely sit straight on his horse, lurching forward and back, having to clutch tightly to his horse’s reigns to keep his balance. 

“Hey, mister!”

Pockets of conversation drifted to Zuko’s ears; a welcome reminder that he had reached a village. He urged his horse to a stop, looking around, but saw no one talking to him. Shrugging, he brought his horse toward a food stall; encouraged by the smell of hot, peppery meat stew. He had a pouch of gold coins – perhaps that would get him a carton of stew as well as horse feed. 

“Hey! Hey, mister!”

A young boy, with straggled dark hair and mischievous buck teeth. He wasn’t talking to Zuko at all, he was ducking and diving behind the vendor.  
He threw an egg; Zuko dodged; it landed with a perfect yellowed splat square on the chest of a nearby soldier. 

“Was that you?” Zuko bit back a groan as he was hoisted high into the air, staring into the flared nostrils of an angrily squinting soldier. Behind him, Zuko saw that same buck-toothed boy, tongue waggling as he held back a laugh. Great.

“…Must’ve been a chicken, flying over,” Zuko shrugged. His chance at food disappearing rapidly in front of his eyes, he grunted as he was thrown like a ragdoll back onto his horse. 

“Hey, thanks for not ratting me out!” That same boy again, trailing him now, as he urged his horse forward. Zuko pretended he hadn’t seen him, turning away, but every which way he turned the boy was there. And somehow, a soft mumbled ‘you’re fine,’ resulted in Zuko getting invited to this boy’s – Lee, his name was Lee – home; a small pig farm. Pride would have stopped him from accepting but Lee promised steamed pork buns and broth, which sang to his stomach before rationality could kick in and the next thing Zuko knew he was sat at the Lee family dinner table, swinging his legs, alternating between picking apart his bun and sipping up clear broth, with a promise to Lee’s father that he would help work that night as a thank you for his dinner. He was, as far as he was concerned, the perfect guest; he ‘uh-huh’ed his way through a conversation with Lee’s father, who assigned him chores; he complimented the dinner, he somersaulted his way around all of Lee’s probing personal questions but ‘mhhmm’ed his way through a conversation with Lee’s mother about her son’s rebellious streak and new Classification: a Little. It was then that Littlespace probed the back of Zuko’s mind again; conscious of accidentally stumbling into Littlespace himself. He shifted, tugging his robes a little tighter around himself just in case; but was so engrossed in sipping his soup that he didn’t notice them loosening slightly across his shoulders.

Sela looked up - happy to hear someone enjoy a meal so much. “Well, it’s wonderful to hear…” she started – but stopped, her eyes glinting at the familiar symbol nestled on his shoulder. “Oh, darling, you’re a Little too!”

Zuko flinched, his hand instinctively coming to his exposed shoulder to hide the mark, yanking his robes tighter. “Um, um..” he stammered, redness leaking into his cheeks. How could he be so careless?! “I’m – I’m not--!” he started. But it was useless.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a Little!” smiled Lee innocently, “Hey, there’s no shame in that.” He wore his heart mark with pride, the last thing he would’ve done was shame this new boy for being classified as such. Although he didn’t seem to act very Little from what Lee had seen of him – it was a welcome surprise. “We’re used to it here, Mama and Papa and me.” 

Lucky you, he thought to himself bitterly. Try coming from a long line of royal Baselines and tell me how happy and Little you are.  
Then Zuko sighed, shaky, mentally berating himself as he sipped from the bowl of broth that Lee’s mother had given him – trying his hardest not to gulp it down as his emptily groaning stomach demanded of him. As difficult as it was to come to terms with his classification, he wasn’t Prince Zuko right now. He could be anyone who he wanted to be. No repercussions. Even if that meant being Little, tentatively encouraging this new side of himself. If Lee did, unashamedly, what was the point in putting a lid on it himself? “…I guess, yeah,” he mumbled into his broth, the blush on his cheeks reigniting. 

“Well, you don’t seem very Little to me,” smiled Lee, metal spoon clanking against his teeth as he golloped down his broth; the noise was enough to make Zuko wince. “You don’t act very Little. Or have any Little things.”

“Is there a certain way I should act?” asked Zuko, the snark in his voice a tad unnecessary but he couldn’t help it from bleeding into his voice all the same. If there was a particular way he should have been acting he certainly hadn’t been taught it and tried his hardest to smother anything Little that ever reared its head. He squeezed his spoon so tight it dug into his palm and drove tears to his eyes. 

“Oh Lee, stop it,” crooned Sela in a scolding but sweet voice. “Stop pestering the poor love.”  
Lee fidgeted on his bottom, offering a quiet ‘sorry’ in Zuko’s direction but not acknowledging whether his apology was accepted or denied. “Being Little,” he said at last with a shrug, “is what you make of it.” Another fidget, excited. “Here, lemme show you my room. Mama, I can show him my room, can’t I?”

His mother considered it, then smiled. “Fine, you’re excused.” She cooed. Zuko had no say in the matter, Lee tugging his arm excitedly and all but yanking him off of his chair.  
~

“This is my room!” Arms outstretched, Lee twirled in place as if unveiling it to Zuko personally; Zuko twisted around with him, slow, taking it all in. The walls were sage green, thin matchstick trees clustered in each corner, with a little line of waddling turtleducks (wandering beside one another) sat inside a border on the wall. The floor was tiled yellow-green, like a checkerboard, except it was soft and foamy between his feet. In the corner of the room was a chalkboard easel, and messy stick figure drawings were plastering the rest of the walls, every one of them with ‘LEE’ printed in large at the bottom, even though the ‘E’s were backwards. A large wicker toy chest stood next to a (decidedly duller looking) chest of drawers. Lee slid onto his knees, yanking open the big wicker chest and pulling out some soft flocked animals; a turtleduck family, a horse, some pigs. “And this is my little farm. Sometimes I get tired of workin’ on the big farm, so I play with my little one.” He made the horse trot idly across the floor before throwing it and the rest of the animals back into the chest, pulling out a small tub of modelling clay instead. He rolled the clay into a little ball, poked a wobbly face into it. “’S fun.” He had quite thought that Zuko would have shrugged off his pride and played with him, but all the boy was doing was looking around, bewildered. His voice was small, braying with disappointment. 

“It looks like fun,” Zuko whispered, plopping down next to Lee, aware that he’d upset him somehow. “I- I don’t have anything like this. It’s pretty cool.”

Lee nodded, appeased, jumping up again, opening the chest of drawers this time. Zuko saw his window of opportunity and flopped forward onto his tummy, taking the modelling clay into his hands; it was warm and slightly tacky. He rolled it out flat like a sausage, chopped off the ends, rolled a little ball and some thin noodles.  
“…’n this is my really baby stuff,” said Lee, holding out a package of pacifiers, a velvet blankie with a rattle attached, a teether made out of rubber. “I don’t like the really baby stuff much though. I prefer toys.” Despite this he was speaking in between chews at his teether; he recognised what he was doing and pulled the teether out again. “But it doesn’t matter. If you like the ‘lil baby stuff then that’s okay, too.” He shrugged, stuffing his teether into his pocket, flopping down to Zuko’s level. “What’re you doin’?”

Zuko held out the little clay man, smiling.  
Lee beamed. “Hey,” he whispered conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness, “I saw you had a dagger, can we play with it? I won’t let my parents see, please?” he pawed. “I wish I had a dagger!”

Zuko’s face froze with hesitation. “Maybe later…?” he squirmed uncomfortably. Letting the kid learn to use a dagger was swaying dangerously close to having his true identity revealed. Not to mention Lee could have been hurt. He didn’t want that hanging over him.  
~

Night drew in; Lee rubbed his eyes as he padded toward his new friend. “Mama said you have to sleep in the barn tonight, with your ostrich-horse. Sorry.” He yawned widely, the kind that ate his face, but reached into his pockets. “…She also said I could give you this. You know, for bedtime.” 

There, sat in the palm of his hands, was a pacifier; red on the shields and handles with a cherry shaped teat, still in its box. Zuko stared at it, flushing an ugly shade of red. Clearly they thought he wasn’t indulging this new side of his enough. “I- I don’t—” he squeaked nervously, pulse quickening, “I- I’m not—you don’t have to—” He wasn’t that kind of Little, was he? Lee himself wasn’t. He just liked playing with toys. That didn’t mean he was that sort of Little – you know, ‘cause he didn’t need a…

“Take it!” Lee pleaded, shoving the little box into his hands. 

“I can’t just t—!” Zuko squeaked, eyes wide, but Lee shoved the pacifier toward him and all Zuko could do was take it. He sighed, looking down at the pacifier he now held in his fist. “What—what do you want in return?”

Lee smiled, saying nothing, turning on his feet and leaving Zuko alone in the barn.  
~

Squirming, Zuko tried to settle himself against his bed of scratchy, ‘poking-all-the-wrong-places’ hay. The barn door was closed, letting in only the tiniest flicker of moonlight, and although he was thankful for the shelter and comfort he couldn’t sleep. Knowing he was separated from his Uncle kept him awake, clung to his stomach and laughed in his face whenever he tried to settle. Uncle only ever wanted the best for him, after all, even in the face of his classification. He’d never offered much – tucking a blanket tightly around his shoulders, raising tea to his lips, soft little lullabies of a night time - but it felt like too much. Zuko couldn’t just _let_ himself be taken care of, not like that. Although, reminded the small voice in the back of his head, he really wished Uncle was here right now. He’d take the blanket. He’d take the lullaby, even. But he wasn’t. It was just Zuko. Alone.  
He rolled over, looking at his belongings with stinging tired eyes, counting them over and over and over to keep the tears from coming.  
His dagger, his bag… that pacifier Lee had given him… frowning, hesitant, Zuko grabbed the pacifier, popped it out of its little box.  
It was only to tire himself out, he told himself, looking at the soother.  
It had a funny round teat and it looked big enough to fit comfortably in his mouth. He held it tight in one fist but couldn’t bring himself to put it to his lips, not liking how it dug into his palm.

Sleep clouded the edges of his vision; his eyes grew heavy; he hesitated. A figure came in at the edge of his mind, blurry and ethereal looking, not quite his Uncle…  
Never forget who you are. That was what his mother told him, years upon years ago. And maybe it was some sort of joke that she would come to him now when he was trying to hide who he was – or maybe this was her way of telling him not to worry, not to hide.  
Hesitantly, he slid the pacifier between his lips. An odd foreign sensation, he almost wanted to curl up in shame and spit the soother across the room - but he didn’t.  
Never forget who you are, said his mother, and he was Prince Zuko and he was a Little and that was okay.  
Sure the pacifier was heavy on his tongue but, after he got used to it, it wasn’t so different to his thumb aside from the initial rubber tang.  
It fit there as if it belonged there somehow. Sucking steadily, Zuko was lulled into an easy, dreamless kind of sleep. The best sleep he’d had in ages. He slept like the dead, curled up, pacifier tight in his mouth; only waking when there was a rustling close by after what felt like only minutes into his sleep. His first thought should have been an intruder, an interloper – but he was brought into such a peaceful state of mind that all Zuko could think was why, oh why, had he been woken.  
“…Uhh?” he mumbled, dizzily looking up. There was a curl of drool around his mouth from where he had dribbled around his pacifier. As the exhaustive fog drifted away and his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw Lee, stumbling, trying and failing to steal his dagger. “Lee?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily – too tired to even jump to defend himself and his belongings from the boy. 

“Pleeeease teach me,” Lee pleaded; caught in the act he had no choice but to give in. 

“…Just this once.” mumbled Zuko, “As a thank you,” a sigh, an uneasy squirm, “for the pacifier.”  
It was late. He was tired. His brain was still foggy, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and fall back into that peaceful state of mind again. But, rising to his feet, he urged Lee toward the nearby sunflower field, pacifier still bobbing in his mouth.

“You do like it!” Lee smiled. 

Zuko blushed. Somebody else liked it, the person he was pretending to be right now.  
“…Don’t tell.” He spat the pacifier out, slung it in his pocket; taught Lee late into the night how to hold the dagger, how to move it and slice it not as two but as one, cheering him on as he lopped golden-yellow head after golden-yellow head off of all the poor sunflowers in the field; only vaguely wondering whether this was going to land them into trouble.

But, the next day, as Zuko rode away from the village disgraced – his identity revealed and his friendship with Lee firmly rebuffed as a result, he was sure that a few trampled sunflowers were the least of his worries. 

Especially since he still had that pacifier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're time skipping, honeys!!!  
> I feel like this scene would have been much cuter had it been Sokka or one of the gang who introduced him to pacifiers, admittedly, but I also really think this episode is pivotal in Zuko playing with his identity as a person and so that's why I put it here instead. I feel like he would have struggled and fought had the Gaang tried to ease him into it like this. And given I want to wrap this up tidily you best believe we swerved that narrative. :P


	5. The Crane in The Tea Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Iroh and Zuko, refugees in Ba Sing Se, run a tea shop. Zuko wins over a miserly customer - but succumbs to illness.

Ba Sing Se was an odd place, Zuko thought, but it was peaceful enough. Uncle enjoyed it, at least, and so he was determined to keep his mouth shut if he ever had any issue with it. They had a roof over their head, a roof and food and plenty of tea – which was miles better than the mouldy old fruit, nuts and squished berries Zuko had survived on while he was alone. He and Uncle had settled themselves into a routine, of sorts. Uncle had a tea shop, and he would go there and serve tea all day long to all of Ba Sing Se’s elders, chattering about whether Oolong tea or Chai was the nicest. If Uncle thought that Zuko looked a little too bored with himself, “Up!” he would say, smiling, “There’s plenty of work to be done, Prince Zuko.”  
Zuko found he didn’t mind it so much – it was okay – not fun, not too intellectual, either, but it kept him focused. It just meant that sometimes he had to work while he felt Little – a challenge in and of itself – but until he bit the bullet and relayed this to his Uncle it was something he had to deal with. He was just curled up on his bed upstairs, wincing against the fuzzy sensation in his head. It was as though he was wobbling on a diving board, ju-u-st about to plunge into Littlespace… rooting under his pillow he found his pacifier, slipped it into his mouth, mumbled. Then…

“Mr Miyake is downstairs, Zuko. Quick and prepare him his tea. Jasmine!” 

The pacifier shot out, back to the confines of his bedsheets.  
It was rarely that Uncle strayed away from customers. Mr Miyake was the exception. _Oh, Zuko,_ bemoaned Uncle, gaze skyward, _he is so fussy. Everything has to be precise! Tea leaves strained to the minute! Water to the exact temperature!_  
Zuko was good-natured enough to keep his mouth shut rather than tell his Uncle that he might’ve just met his match. He giggled, loosely tying his apron around his back (his hands never seemed to coordinate when he felt Little; as he headed out he felt Uncle tighten the straps for him) – but he had no time to even consider berating him for such a thing, not when Mr Miyake was waiting. 

“Don’t forget the jasmine petals!” Iroh hissed. Zuko nodded. Got it!  
~

 _Boil the water. How much was it? 8 ounces? 10 ounces? 9 and a half?_ Frantic, Zuko shook his head. _Boil the water._  
Green tea, it had to be made with green tea – right? How- how long to steep it for? Five minutes, perhaps? He heated the water, slowly, methodically – even though his hands were shaking – waiting until the surface of the water lined with silvery bubbles. Now – now the steeping, and, _oh_ Zuko wasn’t sure this was a Little’s job, after all, sniffling, he took the loose leaves, he angrily ran a hand over his face – _don’t cry, don’t even be Little – you’re busy!_ – sort of slopping the leaves into the water and stirring. Now the steeping, which involved a lot of staring at the tea and stirring it. It looked a bit like muddy water, although it smelled pretty good? – still, Zuko couldn’t shake the feeling that all he was, was a kid playing at tea parties. Did he want it sugared? Uncle never said. Hm. Was Mr Miyake the type of person to like his tea sugared?  
He dared peep upwards in search of Mr Miyake, and _oh_! There he was, there he was with his funny crepey skin and his face that was so angry looking it was as if he was sinking into himself, all squat and square. On second thoughts no, no he did not like his tea sugared. He did not look like a man who liked his tea sugared, anyway. Pouring the tea into the finicky little teacup Zuko spilt, jumped as though he’d sprayed lava over himself, frantically mopping up at the spill with the corner of his apron. Taking a deep tight breath he gathered the teacup and the tray and clink-clanked his way out to the busy tearoom – wishing, wishing, wishing that Uncle was helping him out, in his panic everyone looked the same – the same heads, the same voice, the same grimace – where was the man he had seen not five minutes ago?! “Miyake?” he squeaked, voice tiny – curse his lilting Littlespace voice. “Is there a Mr Miyake?”

“Here, boy.” said a voice. Zuko trotted over like the obedient puppy he was. “Tea, Mr Miyake!” he bowed, gracious, mouth about to shape a ‘please enjoy!’ when he realised – the jasmine petals, he had forgotten the _jasmine petals_!

Mr Miyake grunted into his cup. Zuko bit his lip. He wondered how quickly he could run to the kitchen, or perhaps just melt on the spot entirely. “Is… is it okay, um, sir?” he asked. That was the sort of thing you said to someone, right? Not that Zuko could hear himself over the pawing of his Littlespace. He nibbled at his lip, kneading his apron a little, wishing he had his pacifier close by. 

“Sit, boy.”

Zuko’s pupils were pinpoints. “I’m sorry?” he squeaked, feeling his face crumple some. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Uncle! Uncle, come here! Unfortunately Zuko had not mastered telepathy. His uncle did not come.

“Sit.” He indicated the chair opposite him.

Zuko sat. Bewildered. “I can make you a new cup o—” he started, but then- but then his panic subsided and he realised Mr Miyake wasn’t shouting at him at all, he was – he was _drinking the tea_. He was drinking the tea and- and folding the corner down of his napkin, but- but rather than dab around his mouth with it he was folding and pressing it with the most intricate, delicate of touches. Zuko squirmed, leaning forward in interest. “W- what is that?” he asked. His voice was tiny, awe-filled like a child’s voice should’ve been. 

“For the beautiful tea,” said Mr Miyake, and there in the palm of his hand was a tiny springy paper bird, all sharp corners. He pressed the little bird into Zuko’s palms, made it flutter. Zuko looked at it as if it truly was a tiny baby fledgeling. “…a crane.”

Zuko ‘oooh’ed, sniffling. “Can… can you teach me?”

“Perhaps if you make me another tea like that tomorrow.” Mr Miyake smiled, sweet.  
He pressed five fat gold coins into Zuko’s outstretched palms, shifted in his chair. 

Zuko wondered if he could sense his Littlespace, or if he had simply found him on a very good day indeed. Then again, perhaps the fact he was all wobbly and nervous was a bit of a giveaway...  
He held his little crane, not wanting to squish it. “Thank you,” he smiled, appreciatively, but his smile was a little wobbly. He didn’t feel so good. Maybe it wasn’t his Littlespace after all. He hadn't felt this before. “Please enjoy your tea!” he said, somehow without thinking of it.  
~

“Can you teach me?” trilled Father – father, except he was speaking with Azula’s jeering voice – high and lilting; the perfect imitation of his voice when he was feeling Little. Zuko was watching him, looking up at him, except he was small, barely as big as Father’s foot. “Oooh, a crane!” Father split in half and suddenly Azula was there too, giant and laughing, laughing so hard Zuko could see every single one of her teeth and how her gums glistened. “A pacifier? Such childish behaviour coming from the future Fire Lord! Pathetic, Prince Zuko!” Father shouted so hard he spat, and it covered Zuko head to toe. He dripped, he dripped and he jolted awake and was dripping for real – his bedsheets heavy and cold, the seat of his pyjama pants even colder. Moaning, he got up out of his bed. He was sure wetting his bed was something he should’ve cried over, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t even cry at his bad dream. His head felt like it was filled with stuffing, like it was an effort to lift. It would have been an effort to cry, even. He slid from his bed, tugging all his wet yucky sheets into a ball; gravity bent around him, he moaned. He stumbled to the bathroom but barely remembered the journey there; crumpled to his hands and knees when he couldn’t support himself upright any more, pressed his hot forehead against the cool of the floor. Oh, it felt nice. 

“Prince Zuko?” said Uncle Iroh, and Zuko was sure he was still dreaming. Uncle Iroh kneeled to his level, studied his exhausted face, “Oh firefly,” he cooed, softly, “Whatever is the matter?” 

What was the matter? Zuko didn’t know.  
~

He coughed into the air – a horrible sound; a dry biting bark - and moaned as he tried to lift the bowling-ball atop his neck up from the pillow. He managed only a few inches before flopping backwards again, whimpering. "Why…"  
Guh. It was an effort just to talk. The words caught, dry and husky, in the back of his throat. When they fell free they were swallowed whole by the throbbing in his forehead. "…why is this happening to me?"  
His eyes glassed over, tearfully anxious. He rarely sickened. He was sure that the last time he'd gotten sick – this sick – he was tiny enough to be nursed back to health by his mother.  
He blinked tiredly at Iroh (or rather, the blurry collection of shapes that moved a little way in front of him that he could weakly make out as his Uncle Iroh) and then nestled tighter into the blanket Iroh had tucked around him. "Stop moving around so much…" he moaned. It was making his stomach clench. What had happened? Where had the time gone? Last he remembered, he was sprawled on the bathroom floor relishing the coldness against his forehead. 

Iroh chuckled, humming, knowing perfectly well he was sat still. Knowing perfectly well what was going on, too. Zuko thought very highly of his Uncle, yes, but it was clear he considered him born yesterday. Why Zuko kept it a secret from him Iroh couldn't fathom, as he had been waiting for the day Zuko gave in and accepted himself for what he was even on the day he had gotten his classification. But that wasn't something he could rush; it was Zuko's choice and Zuko's choice alone. That went without mentioning his sickness. Who did he think had bundled him back into bed?  
Still, the fact that Zuko was ailing in this way was a positive sign.  
"…I'm sorry, young one," he murmured sweetly, kneeling close to him and holding a cup of water to his lips. "Drink, hm?"

Zuko lapped at the water miserably as though he were a kitten drinking its first milk meal, blinking blearily. "Make it go away," he said in a tiny voice, scrubbing his aching forehead. "Make it all go away," as if Iroh was magical, could solve anything with a click of his fingers. The way he was feeling now – so small and pitiful – he was sure that Uncle could solve anything.

"I can't," murmured Iroh sympathetically, cradling Zuko as he drank and noticing just how small he looked there in his arms. Even with the physicality of a sixteen-year-old boy – all lanky arms and legs spilling everywhere - it was as if he had shrunk somehow.  
Iroh thought about Zuko – not Zuko now but Zuko when he accepted things and found a Caregiver of his own, somebody who adored him – whether he would look not too different than he did now, curled up and peaceful. He shook his head, squeezed his nephew lovingly. "…that's your choice, Prince Zuko."

Zuko whimpered, shivering in pain. The water had soothed his aching body somewhat, reducing it from a pummel to a gentle ebb, but did little to comfort him all the same. Iroh moved the cup away from his lips when he had obediently drained it and he whined unhappily. "…please?"  
Iroh shifted him around a little, awakening aches in every bone. He did have something that might bring Zuko some comfort, he smiled wryly… and Zuko opened his heavy eyelids to come face to face with his pacifier, held in a pinch between his uncle's thumb and forefinger.  
Zuko's cheeks flamed and for a long moment, he was glad of his fever. He shifted, agitated, trying to sit up. Iroh supported his head instead, bringing his gaze to a tilt as though he were nothing but a newborn baby incapable of supporting himself. "…where did you find that?" he murmured. 

"You forget I have eyes in the back of my head, young one," the smile on Iroh's face was still wry as he offered the pacifier to Zuko; secretly gleaming as Zuko drew the pacifier into his mouth. "If it brings you comfort I don't see an issue," he said - and in any normal situation Zuko was sure he would have spat the pacifier out and overdramatically turned away at even the mere suggestion - but he was exhausted, the kind that ran deep in his bones, and found his ability to care about such things had diminished some number of hours ago. "I can still prepare you some medication," his uncle soothed from somewhere above him, voice fading as he fell into sleep, but reiterated something about his symptoms diminishing once he decided for himself what he should do, where he should go.  
When Zuko woke up again – still with that annoyingly dull ebb in his head- his cheeks were sticky with saliva from working at his pacifier for hours.  
He looked around, blearily, wondering whether it had been some sort of sick fever dream – but then Uncle appeared, pestle and mortar in hand. 

"You're awake!" he cooed, "Now you can take your medicine."  
He was holding a little bowl with some sort of broth inside it. It looked disgusting, whatever it was, all murky green.

Zuko groggily sat up, spitting out his pacifier and wiping his mouth. "…do I have to?"

Iroh nodded, insistent. "Come now," he teased, "I'm sure it won't be as bad as the soap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is called 'OP cheats again'. Honestly, I found the whole 'Zuko's getting sick 'cos he can't pick a side' a very handy plot device. Sorry. I told you I wanted to get this done quick!  
> And you know what that means, honeys!!!!!!! The next set of chapters are my favourite so I'm really excited. 
> 
> Also the thought of Zuko making paper cranes makes me cry. I can imagine him waiting for the customer to return and being upset whenever he doesn't appear. And nagging his Uncle into helping him instead. Did you know that if you make fifty thousand paper cranes, you're granted a wish? Zuko would be INTO that. I can just imagine him surrounded by little paper cranes, eyes blinking like in a cartoon, "49998, 49999, 50000!" - now he gets a wish! 
> 
> Someone should draw it. Or make a fic. I might cry. You can totally draw things if you want, mind you. I love art. Also, this is just one fic/interpretation. So if you're like, eh, I didn't like this bit. Be my guest and write it in the way that you do! I'm down for it!!! You have my permission!


	6. It Makes You Go 'Woooh'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Western Air Temple, Zuko successfully integrates himself into Team Avatar. He and Sokka find a common thread.

"…No, your stance isn't quite right," Zuko murmured thoughtfully, slowly circling Aang. He shook his head. "It's more like… you have to stand like this, or- or you won't be able to make any fire, never mind bend it. I mean," he stood a little way away from the boy, gesturing, "Make some fire for me. Right now!"

Aang mumbled, puzzled. He drew his hands together, then gestured with a flourish. A small curl of fire appeared in the palm of his hand with a tiny pathetic toot. It sounded like a really quite rude noise.   
A smile spread across his face; he giggled. "…like that?"

Zuko bit back a giggle too, redness flowering across his cheeks, although since he was Aang's elder – and teacher – he wasn't sure he could laugh at rude noises. People who were baselines didn't laugh at rude noises, did they? He’d never heard Dad ever laugh at rude noises.   
...Mind you, he’d never heard Dad laughing at very much at all.  
"S- sorta, but um—it's because your stance isn't right. You gotta get all the energy goin'. And it'll show in your firebending." He explained. 

Aang nodded, moving his feet so he stood parallel to Zuko. He studied Zuko's form with an intense frown so he could copy – and be making great big pipes of fire by sundown. Or at least, that was what he hoped.

Zuko ran a nervous hand through his hair. He hadn't planned this far ahead and – secretly – was winging the entire thing. Sure, he had sat in front of a badgerfrog and planned out what he was going to say to team Avatar so they would accept him into the group; he had even sat and planned out what he was going to say if they didn't accept him into the group and he had to sit and grovel on hands and knees – but staying with them, training up the Avatar, trying desperately to integrate into their friendship group all the while keeping a tight lid on his Littlespace was something that had barely crossed his mind – and now here he was, sitting on the sidelines, so close to achieving his true destiny: taking down the Father—!  
the Fire—the Fire Lord.   
They started out hiding at the Western Air Temple. Only he and Aang had work to do; the others could goof off as much as they wanted. They hadn't talked to him very much otherwise. Katara was wary, Toph didn't really hang out with him, Aang only hung out with him because he was his firebending mentor. As for Sokka, Zuko couldn't work him out at all. He was either all hyperactive, bouncing all around the place, throwing his boomerang around in just the right spot so it smacked Zuko square in the back of the head on its return, or all reclusive and quiet - nipping at his mittened hands, whispering to Katara, ducking into 'his' corner of the temple when the sun was barely going down and curling up by himself. Not that Zuko minded. It helped him hide his classification if the others were wary of him, anyway. Not wanting another humiliatingly quick outing like when he was in the Earth Kingdom, he made sure to layer up over his usual clothes. Sure it was hellish when the sun lashed thick lines on his shoulders and the stone floor burned against his heels and he had to manipulate fire for at least two hours a day, ending his lessons red-faced with a shiny sheen of sweat on his forehead – but if it saved him the upset of his new… friends…? …people…? finding out, he would just have to deal with it. 

"Is there a reason you're firebending with your shirt on?" Aang asked one afternoon. Zuko didn't look so great. He was hot and red and shiny but sorta looked a bit… far away, kinda stumbly on his feet, too. Aang supposed it was because Zuko had put on at least two extra layers over his tunic, long sleeves too. Something wasn't right about it. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit conscious; Zuko had told him to take his shirt off and there he was, stood in the sunlight, bare-chested. In front of Katara. She was cheering him on.

Zuko tugged at his shirt subconsciously, tightening it around his shoulders. "I'm cold," he lied. 

Aang squinted. "You don't look cold. You look like you're 'boutta melt."

 _Damn_ this way-too-perceptive kid.   
"I- I guess I could stop for a drink, yeah," he puffed out, tugging at his shirt again as he shuffled toward the group's makeshift camp for his canteen of water.  
~

"…cool picture."

Sokka was curled up, hugging his knees, drawing with a stick in the sooty earth left behind from their small campfire. It looked a bit like Appa - if Appa had been sat on by an elephant first - and had a moustache and three wonky legs. 

Sokka flushed, flinching. "Thanks," he mumbled. He kicked at the earth so his picture disappeared, laying back where he sat, pulled away from his Littlespace so rapidly it had him flailing to get a hold of his usual self. "It's—it's really hot, isn't it?" he said timidly. How Zuko could cope with three layers on was beyond his understanding.   
The heat was making him tired and feeling tired was making him feel Little all over again. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. 

Zuko looked at Sokka through half-closed eyes. "It is," he said, desperate for their conversation to pick up. There had to be something they had in common. Zuko wracked his brain for a common thread, desperate, lying there and thinking and drinking for at least ten slow and painful minutes. 'Sorry I've been trying to kill you?'   
'Sorry, the Fire Nation took your mother but it's okay, I've reformed?'  
"…are, are you classified?" he said at last; hating himself as the words fell from his mouth. "You, um, you get classified at fifteen, right, so, um…"

Sokka hesitated. "Yeah," he said at last, softly, taking a big deep breath "I'm a Little."

– and it was only then that something fell in Zuko's mind, that he chained together Sokka's tiny voice, the hyperactivity, the secretive behaviour, the drawings. He was almost painfully jealous at how easily Sokka admitted it – just like Lee, like Lee's parents. He supposed that was how things were meant to go.   
"I didn't know!" Zuko said, eyes wide and interested. "What's it like?" What was it like? Lee had shown him, but was it different for Sokka? He saw how much Sokka hesitated before he spoke and it made him feel… funny, right in the chest. Did-- did he think Zuko would use that against him, or something? Sure, he- he had captured them and gone in pursuit of his friend but – but he’d never go _that_ far. His heart thudded, wondering if he had wrenched the lid off of the can of worms too quickly, wondering if Sokka expected him to out himself.

"It's easier when we're not having to outrun someone trying to capture our friend," Sokka mumbled. He shook his head. "It's cool. I have a pacifier and a bottle and a stuffie," He listed methodically but in a childlike way - like he was expecting Zuko to praise him for it. His voice was softer now. 

Zuko flinched but smiled all the same, thankful that he'd changed the subject. "A stuffie? Lemme see your stuffie."   
Sokka looked at him and the smile on his face was so wobbly and unsure; Zuko matched it, gesturing. "Well? Lemme see!"

Sokka smiled, scrambling to his backpack. When he returned he was hugging his Polar Bear tightly to his chest. "My mom gave this to me," he explained in a tiny voice (a new tiny voice that Zuko hadn’t heard before – he guessed he had met Little Sokka) - not once lessening his grip. Although it was a polar bear by name, Zuko thought it didn't much look it. Its fur was grey and balding in patches, its limbs were long and weighted, its tummy was fat – and worst of all it was wearing a knitted jumper. Zuko was sure he’d seen a Water Tribe uniform somewhere, too. Southern Water Tribe polar bears must've been different from the polar bears Zuko had seen in his lifetime.

"…he's cool. Geddit? Cool?" Zuko said, the tiniest giggle feathering his voice – even earning a giggle from Sokka, too.   
Seeing Sokka cuddle his stuffie so openly, press him against his chest without a care as to what the others thought of him, made his tummy stir hopefully. If the others could accept a Little Sokka easily, maybe—just maybe—they would be accepting of him, too. Maybe uncle really was right. Zuko bit his lip. “Whattabout the other stuff?”

“The bottle?” Sokka hummed. He disappeared off in search of his backpack again, returning with the bottle in his hand. “Here it is!” he beamed, holding the bottle out – and to Zuko’s surprise, the bottle didn’t explode in his hands the second he stole a glance of it. It almost looked comical, in its way - not as small as a bottle made for babies but much bigger, the teat bloated and fat and looking exactly like the teat of his pacifier. “It’s like a pacifier!” he nodded (was he reading Zuko’s thoughts? Zuko squirmed) “Well… it feels the same but it’s yummier,” he announced as though he was the expert on such things. He hugged the bottle to his chest overprotectively, as though he was concerned Zuko was going to steal it from him.

“…do you have, um, everything in it?” Zuko mumbled, feeling suddenly foolish. He wasn’t used to this, being the centre of something he didn’t understand. Was this why Uncle offered him a cup all the time, held it out to him expectantly? This was what he was to move onto?

Sokka shook his head. “Just milk. At night.” He shrugged. “It’s nice. It makes your belly all…” he wriggled his fingers around his tummy with a soft, ‘wooooh’ noise. “…all cloudy and warm and sleepy. Katara makes it for me but I drink it by myself.” He looked very proud of himself (probably a little too proud given that he was fifteen and very much old enough to feed himself, Zuko thought.) 

…but all the same, Zuko smiled. So that was where he disappeared off to when the sun went down.   
“Not juice?” he asked, purely for the sake of asking rather than out of genuine interest. “Or tea?”

Sokka looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Juice would make it taste all gross!” Especially when they didn’t have the time or equipment to clear it out properly. He stuck out his tongue in discomfort.

“…right…” Zuko fumbled, flushing pink. Of course. How _could_ he be so silly?  
~

Sokka sprawled out on his stomach, polar bear lounging lazily next to him, knapsack propping up his cheek. It was nighttime now – and not particularly late, either – but Sokka had given in and settled for the night even if everybody else was wide awake. On the other hand, Appa seemed to agree – laid down next to him, keeping him cosy warm and sleepy. “Issit ready yet?” he asked, his voice practically purring with tiredness. 

“You’re so impatient!” Katara laughed, but not unkindly. “It’ll have to be cold,” she warned in between uncapping the bottle of milk and pouring it into Sokka’s bottle. 

Sokka’s head snapped up. “What?” he whined. His lip was in a pout, quivering a little. “I don’t like cold milk …” he grumbled. Sometimes he had to have a cold bottle because they weren’t able to get a fire going to heat it, and while he could understand why his Little side would always prioritise warm milk over cold.   
…Well, that and he was fed up of cold milk. “…I want it to go like…” he was half asleep as he spoke, but waggled his fingers at his belly, “…woooh.”

“Sokka,” Katara rubbed her temples, sighing. Her voice was low but sweet. “You can’t, you know that.”

“But I want one!” Sokka mumbled; as if it was that easy.

Zuko was sat on the floor, cross-legged, kicking absentmindedly at a pebble while trying to pay as little attention to the siblings as possible; but this sore spot had him lifting his head. He hadn’t ever really seen the siblings argue with one another – not in the short time he had been accepted into their group nor before that when he was still trying to track them and Aang down.   
“…why can’t he have a warm bottle, exactly?” he mumbled. 

Katara turned her gaze to him, and if looks could kill Zuko quite thought he’d be a puddle of guts and bones by now. “How am I meant to heat it up?” she shrugged, her voice not as full of fire as Zuko had expected. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re prisoners out here. Combustion Man’s already attacked us once, no thanks to you. We don’t need to draw any more attention to ourselves by going out and preparing to make a fire. It’s only for a night.” 

Zuko cocked his head. “…Pass me the bottle. I can do it.” 

“…What?”

“Give me the bottle,” he said, hands outstretched and expectant. “I can heat it.” It wasn’t much, but it was something, and maybe it would win Katara over a little bit. If he was as hellbent on hurting them as she thought, he certainly wouldn’t want to help Sokka, would he?

She hesitated but handed the bottle over. He held it in the palms of both hands, humming in pleased surprise as the cool bottle warmed with him. It had a slight scent to it now it was warm; vanilla, or perhaps nutmeg? Whatever it was, it smelled pretty sweet and sort of – sort of – sleepy? As though it’d rock you to sleep, or something. No wonder Sokka liked it. His belly squirmed, squirms that slithered all the way up into the corner of his brain, made everything feel all far away and fuzzy.   
Uh oh.   
“There..!” he quickly passed the bottle over, recognising the fluttery sensation in his tummy, “I think that’s warm enough, right?”

Katara passed the bottle to Sokka, who chewed the teat appreciatively in a matter of seconds. He slid into stillness, suckling quietly, all soft and pliable like velvet – trying to speak, to say thank you, but too preoccupied with his bottle to really make himself say anything important. “I think you’re right,” said Katara instead, offering Zuko a rare smile full of appreciation as her brother rolled over, bottle tucked protectively close to him. “Thank you, Zuko!”

“It’s- it’s okay!” Bashful, Zuko pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying in vain to tug the fuzziness away. He couldn’t be Little here, not in front of the others. “I- I think, I think I’m gonna hit the hay too, is- is that okay?”

“Sure!” Katara shrugged, and Zuko staggered toward what had been designated his corner of the temple almost on autopilot, his footsteps wobbling. He crashed to his bottom in the corner, sprawled out flat like he’d been steamrolled. Not the most comfortable of positions, although once he had pushed his pacifier into his mouth Zuko found he cared about little else. The hard bed, the draught swirling in from the walls, the gruffed mumbling of the wide-awake others (and flying bison) all melted away to nothing along with the pulsing cloudiness at the edges of his brain; replaced by little sparks of bliss that grew bigger and bigger - like they were nourished by every little suckle of his pacifier. Zuko scooted tighter into his blankets and closed his eyes and then there in the dark his Mama came to him again, as she had before, and the little sparks raining down on his scalp almost felt like she was carding her fingers through his hair, cooing, lulling him to that sweet-spot between wake and sleep. He shivered, content and pleased; thinking, too, of his uncle.   
Was this the path he was supposed to be taking? He sure hoped so. It felt right somehow. Surely if it was the wrong path, it woulda felt wrong. Sucking his pacifier a little tighter, he wondered about Sokka and his bottle and what exactly that ‘woooh’ feeling was like - the one in his belly when he had warm milk - because Sokka made it sound all happy and magical somehow.   
…He supposed he could only find that out if he had a bottle of his own but coming to terms with that made his gut drop in mortification. He shook his head, snuffling tiredly around the nub of his pacifier. That was a problem for another day, another Zuko; a Zuko who was much more comfortable with himself - and much less tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sokka's back! Yay!
> 
> Note how I am skipping all the actual drama. LOL.  
> (If you'd like a visualisation of this please picture me (short, disabled, brunette) dragging Zuko (lanky, whining around a pacifier, comically bigger than me) along under the armpits, pirouetting around the drama. Sometimes Sokka is there (he holds Zuko's hand) sometimes he's not.)
> 
> ...seriously though these chapters are so much fun. I haven't enjoyed writing or uploading chapters like this in a long, long time. Thanks to all you wonderful commenters, too. <3
> 
> Tomorrow you get TWO chapters. Everybody say, 'woooh!'


	7. Zuko Gets Found Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...that didn't take long, did it?

Sokka mumbled, rolling over, polar bear clutched in one tight fist. He stretched and hummed, feeling sunlight gush on his belly as his t-shirt rolled up. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a bed they had spent so much time camping outdoors. Sure their time at the Western Air Temple was comfy, but it was still draughty and he hated feeling like he had to sleep with one eye open just in case they got caught by Zuko's wacko sister. He could get quite used to living in the Fire Lord's big swanky beach house by comparison - with all these lazy late mornings and splashing about in the sea after breakfast. Sure, there was, you know, the impending threat of Sozin's Comet, but that was for Aang to deal with. As far as Sokka was concerned, all he had to do was show up. And that meant he had plenty of time to do the important stuff. Like building sandcastles or drinking that super yummy watermelon juice Katara made everybody, or paddling in the water.   
Wandering out of bed, he padded sleepily toward the living room where he could hear the others, already up and awake. "Hi," he waved, rubbing one eye with the sleeve of his pyjamas. "What're we doin' today?" Not a whole bunch, he hoped. He had this sleepy, Little sort of feeling, and it was nice to indulge it. 

Zuko hugged his knees, sipping quietly at his cup of watermelon juice. When Sokka wandered in - Little Sokka, with his polar bear trailing in one overprotectively tight fist and the faded waistband of his diaper peeping up from his shorts, he scowled and turned away. "Nothing. We can't sit here and laze around all the time. What's the Fire Lord going to do, give you a little vacation time? Oops, not today guys, the Avatar's having too much fun," he rolled his eyes. Not that he meant it. His mouth just seemed to be moving of its own accord without him thinking too much about what he was saying - or who it could hurt. It was just-- the sight of Sokka-- of Sokka like that, in his big crinkly diaper with his beloved polar bear made him feel kinda sour. That was without mentioning the ease at which the boy whipped off his shirt and went plunging cheerfully into the water, not a care in the world as to who saw his Classification mark. It wasn't fair. He hadn't had that. 

Katara shrugged. Short of training Aang up, there wasn't a lot for the Gaang to do until the comet arrived other than wait around. She supposed Zuko was just having some trouble integrating with them still. After all, it had taken her so long to gain his trust.

"No!" Zuko fumed, turning to face them, prickling all over angrily. Sokka backed away at the force of the prince's voice, fingers coming to the edge of his mouth. He whimpered. 

"...you're scaring him, stop it!" Katara, as overprotective as ever; she squeezed Sokka's shoulder, he leaned into her. "Come on, Sokka. Leave Zuko be and let's go and find something to do. Get us out of Zuko's hair, hm?"  
~

The attic was dark and dusty; Sokka only managed to find his way by clutching one-handed to his sister - thumb wedged firmly in his mouth as he ducked and squeaked out of the way of sticky slimy cobwebs and flapping moths that crumbled to nothing in front of him. Blechkt.   
'Something to do' in Katara's language apparently meant - uncharacteristically for her - snooping through the Fire Lord's attic. "Oh, Sokka!" she gasped, lifting a scroll from a box and sweeping the dust off of it.   
(Sokka sneezed.)  
"...Sorry. Look at this!"  
She unrolled the scroll, and it wasn't a scroll at all. It was a canvas photograph, one that looked as though it should have been hung up somewhere in a big fancy frame; all faded olden-day colour, tattered at the edges. There, square in the middle, squat and fat with his hands in the air and a duckling-tuft of black hair was Zuko. Who else could it have been aside from Zuko?  
Sokka giggled, patting the big picture. "A baby!" he grinned, voice all feathered with awe. It was funny to think of Zuko as a baby, or at least it was when Sokka was feeling small. Then, somehow, the sixteen-year-old felt so much more grown-up than he was - even if he was only a year older. 

"Yeah, well, even Zuko was a baby once." Katara laughed softly. "How cute! We should go show the others. Not even Zuko could stay grumpy looking at his baby pictures."  
~

"Zuko!" Sokka giggled, still sucking his thumb, "Zuko, you're a baby!"

Zuko felt his stomach drop to his toes. How did they know? He had made sure not to show his classification mark – his time in the Earth Kingdom village was enough to encourage him into forcing back any shades of Littlespace, to push himself as far away as possible from... that. Had they been snooping? As far as he was concerned he didn't have any baby things, not here. It wasn't as if Ozai would have let him have anything that gave away his Classification. What had he missed? What had they found? Blood roared in his ears, coursing waves of embarrassment through his body. "What do you mean?" he spat, whirling around to face Sokka, "Don't be so stupid. Of course not."

"...baby picture?" Sokka mumbled, backed away, hesitant. He unfolded the picture in front of Zuko, and there, staring at the Prince was the child face of his father.   
His face cooled in an instant. "Oh..." he looked sideways at the photo, sighing shakily. "That's-- that's not me," he mumbled. "That's my father."  
He rose to his feet, rubbing his temples. That had been way too close. The gaze of the others burned into him--as if they knew--and he shifted with discomfort. "...C'mon, Aang. I think you need to continue firebending practice."  
~

"That's it, you're—you're really getting it, now!" Zuko smiled faintly as he studied Aang, seeing how he was able to create and safely manipulate a much bigger flame than he had from even days ago. They were outside now. He and Aang could firebend much easier in the outdoors than inside. The others – Katara, Sokka, Toph – were a little distance away, watching the pair. 

…Well; not exactly. Sokka was more excited about playing in the water than watching what the others were doing. He had stripped down to just his diaper (hiked up comically high) with the inky black of his classification mark glistening in the sunshine, peeping out on his tummy.   
"…Katara do you think there's fishies in here?" Sokka asked, flopping onto his diapered bottom and watching the seawater lap over his toes. It was warm, like a bubble bath. 

"Well, yeah. That's where they live, hmm?" Katara giggled. 

"Watch out for sharks!" Toph teased. Sokka wriggled in discomfort, wrinkling his nose, looking deeper into the water as if it would grant him the power of x-ray vision, able to see deep down into the depths where all the sharks were sleeping. "Katara," he asked worriedly, "…are there sharks in here?"  
There didn't seem to be any sharks. He was sure if there were sharks he would see the big shark fin - and he didn't. All he saw was sand. Sand and seashells and water. No sharks. Or fishies, actually, come to think of it…

"I don't know. Why don't you find out?" Katara moved her wrists, and a great spluttering tidal wave of water grew behind him. Conscious that Sokka was settled in his Littlespace she made sure to manipulate the water as gently as possible, splashing him head-to-toe. 

Sokka squealed, freezing in place as water dripped from his hair, his ears, even his diaper. "Katara!" he whined, giggles ebbing into his voice anyway. He kicked at the water in return, giggling all the while in anticipation, and when the tiniest splutters of water were flung in Katara's direction she laughed, flailing as if he had just sent a tsunami to hit her, then jumping to her feet.   
"…Is that a challenge?" she teased, hiking up her sleeves. "Oh, man, it's on!" she ran toward him and the air was filled with bursts of real, raucous laughter – both Sokka's and Katara's – in amongst furious kicking and splashing in the sea.  
~

Zuko couldn't tear his eyes away from them. He knew he should've been focusing on Aang, but- but he didn't feel like he could. His mind was all swimmy, far away like it was when he was beginning to let his Littlespace creep in and – and he couldn't be Little now, no way, but – but it was so hard because Sokka was there and Sokka was Little and Katara was playing along with him. Maybe, he tried to tell himself, maybe it was just because he was jealous, for Katara and Sokka got on much better than him and his sister ever did, for his sister found it entertaining enough to humiliate him in any game they played. But secretly he knew it wasn't, and—and were there really sharks in the water? He couldn't see any but- but – what if Toph was right?   
"Hey Sifu Hotman, over here!" he heard, far away from his ears. _Oh. Oh yeah. Aang. Pull yourself together, Zuko!_  
Zuko shook his head. "Hey," he offered weakly, waving at the boy. "Ah.. sorry. Gettin' kinda.." he scratched at his ear "….distracted? Sorry." He tugged at his ear again, shifted. Trying to mentally stamp on his Littlespace so it didn't reappear yet. "Um, so—so today I was thinking, we could play catch."

"Catch," Aang repeated, quirking a brow. He was painfully polite but obviously unimpressed by such plans. 

"Catch." Zuko nodded. "We'll make a little ball of fire, and just kinda… toss it back and forth. All about…" he cleared his throat, "…control, you know?"   
Yes, he recognised the irony. 

Aang shrugged, nodded. 

"Your serve!"  
~

"What are you doing?"   
The sand was tricky. Toph hated that out of all the places they could hide at it was the beach that the Gaang had chosen. The sand was constantly shifting under the soles of her feet and made it incredibly difficult for her to see. But she was sat with Sokka, and the shifting was much more rapid where he was. It felt like he was-

"Digging!"

-yeah. That. Toph nodded with interest. 

"Makin' a sandcastle!" he smiled, taking her hand, guiding her. "Tunnel there, tunnel there. Window. Door. Notta real door. A seashell one."

"Who's gonna live in it?" Toph asked. "I bet it's too little for you guys to live in, even when you're weeny."

"Dunno!" Sokka shrugged. "Maybe… a hermit crab?" There was a hermit crab crawling over the sand. He teased it with a stick, trying to encourage it into its new sandy prison. 

"Don't, Sokka!" chastised Katara, because Katara was the mom of the group and had to stop all the fun. "You might get snapped at."

Sokka grumped, stopping. "How's the hermit crab gonna get into his house?" he mumbled. The fact that Mr Hermit Crab had a house already seemed to have slipped his mind.  
~

Aang and Zuko had gotten into a careful rhythm with one another, batting the small ball of fire between one another, occasionally creating an extra layer and batting a little tougher - but Aang had gotten the hang of things remarkably quickly. Which Zuko was grateful for, 'cause his Littlespace was still not going away. He heard Sokka was building sandcastles. Hmpf. He wanted to build sandcastles too. He looked away from Aang for a moment, watching Sokka and his sandcastle – this great golden tower with little dug tunnels, sea-water filled moats, shell-studded towers with little slit windows and enough room for even an octopus to live inside. Zuko watched then with jealousy bubbling in his tummy, nibbling at a fingernail in lieu of his pacifier. 

"Sifu Hotman!" Aang said again. "It's your go, are you ready?"  
He was bouncing toe to toe. 

Zuko turned to face him, not quite focused, one eye still on Sokka – mind still on Littlespace – as Aang threw the ball toward him.   
He misjudged; it bowled against Zuko's shoulder, spiralling too quick for Zuko to react and bend it away - at least not _this_ Zuko, not the Zuko who was more focused on wanting to build sandcastles than working with his student - and – and then all of a sudden Katara was shrieking, _Zuko, the fire!_ and his... his shoulder was burning? it was burning and- and it was sort of like the Agni Kai, or at least all the _panic_ and the _heat_ was - and she was shouting at him _sorry, sorry, sorry,_ and that she could heal him and all of a sudden there was water, cold and sharp and Katara, she was rushing to tear his layers off – _no!_ no, she wasn't because then, then she was shrieking _Sokka, Sokka, you get here right now._ Then they were all there: Aang fidgeting, mumbling 'sorry, Zuko!', Katara glad that he was close to the water, Sokka essentially on top of him, yanking a huge fistful of Zuko's sweater until he heard it _rrrriiiip,_ Toph there just to be nosy, and Zuko - Zuko watching this big panicked blur of noise and colour through pinprick eyes trying to yank in breaths through teaspoon lungs.  
He only came back to himself – like he'd been shocked by a great fat bolt of lightning - when she touched his shoulder, his Classification; he shrieked, jerked away from her yelling _no, no no_ "Don't touch me!" looking at the others through tremblingly shy little fingers. 

\--but she had already torn through his layers, saw what he tried so hard to hide: there, in amongst the pinky-red-and-white blistered skin, was the mark of a Little; his mark, always, no matter what. Perhaps it was his imagination but there was a murmur amongst the others, this rippled soft 'oh!'. It wasn't an 'oh' of shock, or even an 'oh' of disgust - or even an 'oh' of worry, it was an 'oh' of understanding. Zuko stilled under Katara's touch, giving in, the hard block of anxiety in his chest beginning to dissipate.

"I'm going to heal you now, alright?" said Katara, glancing at the inky blot on his shoulder.

She touched around the blisters with the featherlight tips of her fingers; it stung at first but there was a funny sort of cool sensation and it was as if the pain was swirling away like water down a drainpipe. The process took only a handful of moments—although it felt longer—and all the while Katara was there, coaching him soothingly through the process, "I'm healing you, and it's going to be _fine_ ," she cooed, although Zuko didn't know if she meant the developing burn on his shoulder or the fact that the team knew his classification. He brought his hands up to cover his face, his entire body flooding like he was a mercury thermometer.

"Hurry up," was all he said, although it was muffled by his hands. He trembled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was super nervous to post this. I still am. I'm really not happy with this chapter, I find it a really convoluted reveal, but at the same time I wanted Zuko to be found out unintentionally like this. The way he's developed so far I couldn't see him admitting it intentionally (although he's more comfortable in himself) so here we are. He's spacey. You should know better than anyone that you don't firebend when you're spacey, Zuko. What did Uncle say about balance, again?
> 
> Also yeah Katara could heal Zuko here 'cause I said so. This is the AU where she had like a few extra drops of spirit water. Convenience! Maybe they sell it at the fire lord's beach house? 20 pence a bottle! Get your spirit water here!!!
> 
> I split it into two because I felt like it worked better as a two parter than as one big chunk of dramatics and feels, though I'm not sure it matters either way.   
> \--->


	8. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Steps. Sokka's idea. Toph likes the nickname.

"…Go away!"

"Zuko, please!"  
Katara. Zuko pressed himself tightly to the door of the closet, listening. He had locked himself in here purely on instinct; it was the little sanctity he came to if Azula ever fancied pummelling him about a bit or if Dad's shouting got too much when he was a little boy. A real, really very little boy. Not like this. "I said—" his voice was croaky like a frog's. "I said—go away!"  
He didn't really know why he was hiding in here. Katara had healed his shoulder without a word, made it all brand new. He had sat up, eyes pink and shrimpy, saw everybody kneeling, smiling at him – and ran. They hadn't even said anything. Nothing bad, at least, nothing like-- like 'go away, you horrible naughty-word person!', for example. He was sure they might've said something quite nice, but he had run away before they could get the chance, all embarrassed and flustered. 

"Zuko, it…" Katara's voice faltered. What was he thinking? Besides, Sokka was a Little! It wasn't as though they were going to shun him for it – and especially not so soon after recruiting him to the team as Aang's firebending teacher. "It doesn't matter! Just—just come out here. We'll talk about it." She pleaded.

Zuko ignored her, curling up awkwardly in the tiny closet. Somehow he had forgotten that the last time he had hidden in here he was considerably smaller, at least physically. His elbows were smooshed in tight, thumb invitingly close to his mouth. A few betraying stray tears trickled down his cheeks, as he plopped his thumb into his mouth and suckled quietly. This was something he hadn't done in ages, either; but his eyes ached and his nose stung and his pacifier wasn't with him, it was somewhere in his bedroom, hidden away.   
The worst thing about it was that it felt nice, it always felt nice. Sure, his thumb was unwieldy and not at all soft and his skin had a funny tang to it compared to his paci but once he got used to the pressure on his tongue it didn't bother him anymore, and then his instincts told him to suck… and so he did.   
The gentle pulling sensation was rhythmic enough to stop the tears before they'd really started and the staggered breaths too – pandering entirely to the Little in him. Spots appeared at the edges of his vision and there, lying awkwardly on the floor in the closet Prince Zuko fell asleep sucking his thumb just like he had nine years prior.  
~

"…Toph, you can open the door, right?" Sokka said. Zuko had sat in that closet for a long time, and while the original plan was to wait it out, Zuko was way more stubborn than they had anticipated. Then again, this was the dude who had relentlessly pursued Aang from day one. Why they had expected any less was a mystery.  
Toph nodded, palms flat against the door; she prised the door from its hinges in seconds. It fell away with a heavy thunk to reveal the young Prince, thumb still wedged in his mouth, a trail of drool sparkling across his chin. His t-shirt had rolled up slightly and… 

"Ugh, that's so gross!" Toph whined, darting away.

Sokka wrinkled his nose. "Uh oh…" he mumbled.

"Sssh!" Katara hissed. Poor Zuko. Somehow it didn't surprise her, not now they knew. "It's nothing, I can just bend it away before he wakes up." She moved her hands carefully, gathering up the liquid from his clothes into a small mass, out of the nearest window onto the garden beneath; taking painstaking effort as to not wake the still-sleeping boy. It was only once she had removed all traces of his accident, the change from cold, clammy wetness to warmth, that Zuko whimpered and awoke. He blinked blearily, looking up at the team, and for a moment didn't recognise where he was, mouth shaping a 'hi' – before remembering. His eyes widened, glinting unhappily and he squirmed again – coming away from his Littlespace for a bit left him scrambling for his senses. Door. Shut. Hide.

"…Wait, Zuko!" Sokka this time. Zuko froze. "…that closet doesn't look very comfy. At least come out n' sit on the couch?"

Zuko hesitated. "So you can get rid of me too? Yeah, I get it."

Sokka frowned. "What, you don't think team Avatar can handle an extra Little?" he even giggled slightly at how silly it sounded.

"…don't call me that!" Zuko said, but it didn't have as much fire in it as he thought. It sort of made him want to cry. Again. He hugged himself instead, sat on the edge of the couch. 

"Aang needs you as a firebending teacher. Little or otherwise." Katara shrugged. "And Sokka's right. He's Little too. He manages." 

"Sure! What's the harm in an extra stuffie? Pacifier? Diaper?" Sokka grinned. The prospect of another Little on the team was pretty exciting. Now he didn't just have to play by himself if he was feeling little!  
He grinned the biggest grin Zuko had ever seen, and Zuko wished he could have mirrored it, but instead all he could feel was the colour draining from his face. He shook his head urgently. "I don't… I don't do that stuff." He squirmed uncomfortably, feeling every pair of eyes in the room fall onto him, and the undercurrent of shock fizzing away. A Little, with no Little things whatsoever?

Sokka's smile fell but then reappeared in a matter of seconds. "Don't mess around, Zuko. You're kidding. Every Little across the whole universe at least has something, or—or they wouldn't be Little at all! You gotta secret stuffie, or somethin'? That's okay!" He tried to look around the boy as if he had a teddy bear stuffed up his t-shirt, but Zuko pushed his hands away. 

"I don't have anything."   
Well. Apart from the pacifier.   
"…I wasn't allowed anything. Where do you think I got this from?" he waved his hand in front of the scar on his face. "…Maybe you're right. I'm not so Little after all." He had managed fifteen years without being Little in any way, what was the rest of his life? He almost sounded hopeful.

Then it was Katara's turn to shake her head. "I… I don't think that's true, is it Zuko?"  
She was kneeled in front of him, to his level. It made him feel small. He ducked, trying to shy away from her.  
"…Is it?"

Zuko didn't answer, which seemed like an answer enough. Sokka looked hopeful still. "You can borrow my polar bear if you want!" Gasping, he scrambled toward his bedroom and returned with his polar bear.

Zuko smiled an uneasy smile, pressing the bear under his chin. "…thanks, Sokka." He hummed. It felt… nice, just to cuddle it... like it unlocked something really deep down and far away inside him. He got that kinda fuzzy feeling again, the drifting-away kind he liked best. 

Next to him, Sokka was gleaming with pride--"S'okay!"--although his smile crinkled unsurely at the corners. "M- maybe not at bedtime, though…?"

"Hey, I bet there'll be a toy store here somewhere. There's gotta be, right?" Aang piped up thoughtfully. "Then Zuko and Sokka wouldn't have to share. And Zuko could get some more baby stuff." Did they sell baby stuff in toy stores? Aang couldn't quite remember. He supposed so?

Zuko jumped, shaking his head frantically as though he'd been set alight. "No way. No way no way." He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever set foot in a toy store. When he was very small, perhaps. But not in his teen years, and no classification was going to change that. His toes curled against the floor out of embarrassment. "…my father wouldn't let me. Ever."

Sokka looked around, exaggeratedly, the tip of his topknot swishing. "He isn't here, though. 'N you won't go cuddlin' a stuffie when Aang faces off against him all…" He waved his hands, burbling out a few soft 'pew, pew, pew' noises. He hesitated. His face lit up. "Actually, maybe he'll get all mad 'n then Aang can overthrow him easy peasy! Yeah!"

"Sokka!" Katara hit his shoulder. "Don't listen to him, Zuko. He won't find out. And it's really not a big deal. Not to us, anyway. Right?"

The others nodded in unison. 

Zuko squirmed, nibbling at his lip. "How'zit gonna work out, though?" he muttered, staring at the polar bear in his arms as though he held all the answers. "Sokka's a Little, 'n he gets looked after by Katara," he murmured. It was okay for them because they were siblings and anyways, Katara only made him a bottle and played all these fantastical games with him. The rest, he kinda did himself.  
The others fell quiet, sharing confused looks. Clearly, this was something they hadn't considered amongst themselves. As for Zuko - he'd almost dared to be the tiniest bit smug – like he had outsmarted them - like he was waiting for them to inevitably agree that he was right.

"…I'll do it!" Sokka beamed. 

The looks of confusion swung in Sokka's direction. Zuko froze.  
"…Looking after a Little is a Caregiver's job, Sokka," Katara reminded. There was a reason for classifications being given out in the way they were. Having a Little in charge of life's big bad responsibilities was never a good choice. Especially if that responsibility involved the wellbeing of another Little.

"Yeah well," said Sokka, voice as shiningly innocent and as Little as could be, "S'not like I'm feelin' Little all the time. So if I don't feel Little, I can look after Zuko. And if I do feel Little, then I can look after myself." He puffed out his chest, like a proud little toddler, but quickly reconsidered, bringing his thumb to his mouth, "…well, as long as you can make a bottle." 

Katara shrugged. "Well, if Zuko's okay with that, then…"

Zuko's eyes widened.   
"You don't have to—" he started.   
"I mean, I can—" he stammered.  
"Sokka, I can, um, I can look after…" he spluttered. His face reddened; he shook his head. He was being silly. "…I guess." He said at last. "Maybe a little bit."   
More hesitation. "…Not all the time."  
He looked at his feet, bunching his toes tight in his shoes. Now he was being very silly, he thought. 

"See!" Sokka's grin was so cheesy it split his face in two, his voice so high and bright it was odd to hear him speak of caregiving. "We can do it slowly. Baby steps."

"Baby steps. I like that!" chimed in Toph, as if any part of the conversation related to her. She leaned over, slapped Zuko square in the shoulder. "Welcome to the team, Baby Steps." 

He flinched both from the punch and her cheery 'water-off-a-duck's-back' tone, never quite sure how to take Toph.  
"…Then it's settled!" smiled Katara, and suddenly soon to be Fire Lord heir to the throne 'Baby Steps' Prince Zuko felt very small indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there we are! Plot twist? In the original classification AU, the creator also mentions 'babysitter's which are people who haven't been classified as caregivers but take on that role. I suppose that's what Sokka (and Zuko) do here although I still consider them Littles. This was just the way me and my friend talked about it a month or so ago. It was also zukka entirely cause you know #zukkasupremacy :-) (also that's why there's no suki yeah I'm slanderous throw your rotten veg at me it's fine x)


	9. Tombstone Teeth Toph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"…All the men of the water tribe get them," he explained. "They wanna train the guys up to be the best most fiercest warriors there are, right?"_
> 
> Zuko, and Sokka, and some sandcastles.

Perhaps it was Zuko’s paranoia, but the others kept their distance from him for a little while. Whether that was because they were too uncomfortable to deal with the situation, or thought he was too embarrassed about the whole situation to bother talking to them, Zuko couldn't work out.  
Either way, he certainly wasn't about to go seeking them out for some sort of sappy talk about it.  
Someone had tucked him into bed – tight, like a burrito, in the bedroom he had chosen years upon years ago when he was a part of a happy family. There on the bed – at the bottom – barring his feet from wriggling around, was his backpack. Laid on top of the backpack, placed so gently it almost appeared as if it had hopped up there by itself, was his pacifier. Whoever had put him to bed must’ve thought he needed it. His cheeks flamed, but the heat died out rapidly. They knew now. They knew. They didn’t mind. Just like Uncle didn’t mind, or like Mama wouldn’t mind.  
As he came to his senses he squirmed uncomfortably, wanting to get free from the tightened sheets. He needed time alone, away from everyone, not least so he could process what it meant for him.  
Stumbling from his blankets, he first went toward the closet… and then tiptoed toward the rear of the house. 

The sand lapped between his toes, all loose and flowy. Sometimes the tide would roll in, kiss the soles of his feet (all salty and icy) before running away again. Zuko liked that sensation the best; when the water was so cold it made his toes curl and he could feel the tiny grains of salt and sand against his heels. He would always come here as a kid, usually after him and Azula had been squabbling and he had gotten (what felt like) a very unjust punishment from Mom (somehow it hurt more coming from Mom) just to sit, kicking sand and picking up little pink wiggling hermit crabs from their shells, or seeking out cool looking shells and stones just for the fun of it.  
As the tide came in and fell away for a second time Zuko came to his feet, brushing the sand from his bottom. He had a pail with him, just so he could go picking shells and stones again as he did as a kid.  
Off he stumbled across the shore, swinging his pail against his arm. He picked up a little white cockleshell here, a twisted white conch shell there, a scalloped shell - or maybe it was a periwinkle? - half-buried in the sand like buried treasure, each one clinking and shuffling against the other as his bucket filled. The young prince easily lost half an hour, on hands and knees to dig studded shells from underneath the sand, beaming impishly to himself when he found cool half-closed oysters or speckled swirly iridescent shells once home to some mystical six-eyed suckered creature… now destined for his bucket. But it was only the sparkly, salt-eaten white shells Zuko chose; the glossy spotted cowries or black mussels, as cool as Zuko thought they looked, went ignored.  
…No. They weren't quite what he wanted. Not right now, anyway.

"…what are you doing?" Sokka's voice sailed across the beach, and Zuko jumped, bucket clinking noisily.  
Suddenly, what he was doing felt too childish to admit to. What would Sokka think? As if Sokka would understand. He had probably been laughing at him, with the others, when his back was turned. Embarrassment boiled across Zuko's middle and right up to his face. He chewed his lip, stumbling silently back into the sand, mouth shut tight. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd leave?

He didn't leave.  
In fact, he was running toward him. Zuko's insides felt like they'd turned to worms as Sokka came closer. He seemed not to notice the boy's embarrassment. "Hey!" he grinned, breathless, "What are you doing? We wondered where you got to."

Zuko looked away, anywhere but Sokka's face. "…Nothing. I just wanted a walk. Sorry." He shifted in place, hiding his pail of seashells. 

Sokka shrugged. "…It doesn't matter.” He wondered if Zuko was still a little worried. “…It'll work out somehow." He smiled a little bashfully, sat on his knees, peering at the prince again. "What's in the bucket?"

Zuko flushed a funny shade of pink. "I always used to collect seashells when I came here as a kid." He ducked. "Sounds dumb. I know."

Sokka grinned. "What's so dumb about that? Lemme see the treasure!" He grabbed the bucket, tipping the shells out onto the sand in front of them. He ooohed in cheery awe, picking up the biggest seashell he could find, with all gnarled bits and little peepholes. "Boo!" he giggled, squinting at Zuko through the shell. "I think a shark ate this one already."  
Zuko looked away again, his smile tiny. Were there really sharks in the water here…? He didn't think so. At least, he hoped not.  
"…so, what, you gonna keep 'em all?" Sokka asked as if Zuko was a toddler who just picked up anything interesting he could find.

Zuko mumbled to himself, opening and closing a little oyster in the hope that a tiny mermaid pearl fell out. "I was… I was gonna, uh, make a necklace with 'em, like yours." His voice was so small it was barely audible. Now that he'd said it out loud it sounded stupid, childish even. His heart thudded in his chest as he waited for Sokka to laugh himself to tears, walk away, declare him off the team so soon after joining it. His face reddened. He’d seen Sokka wearing it and thought it looked cool, that’s all. The Fire Nation didn’t get any cool uniform, not like that. Just thick heavy robes.

"Ohhh…" Sokka touched the necklace that was tight around his neck, smiling so wide it nearly split his face in two. He didn't think Zuko had ever paid enough attention to him to even notice it; the fact that he had made him feel warm in the chest. "This? Yeah. It's not really made out of seashells, but that's a pretty cool idea!"

"What are they?" Zuko asked inquisitively, creeping to get a closer look and running his fingers along the tightly-joined squares. They looked like seashells. Hmm. Sokka was right, though - they didn't look like shells up close, they were smooth and brittle on the edges - not ridged and sandy and covered with holes like all the shells he had in his bucket. He pulled at the necklace with all the awe a young child could have at such things, not realising that he had deposited himself squarely into Sokka's lap with barely a few inches of personal space between them. 

Sokka bit back a laugh, a little flushed at how comfortable Zuko had made himself, watching Zuko peer, poke, pull at the necklace around his neck and deciding against chastising him. He supposed Zuko was firmly in Littlespace right now. Was this what he was like when he was in Littlespace, too? It was kinda funny to see Zuko so small and curious for once – and so close to him(!) – when all this time he had covered it up with sour jibes and shouting. All this time and the guy that they were so scared of was sat here in front of him babbling about seashells.  
"…All the men of the water tribe get them," he explained. "They wanna train the guys up to be the best most fiercest warriors there are, right? So when you're, like, eight or so you have to go off with your Dad and you learn to hunt, like a real warrior. Any creatures you hunt get harvested. Meat can keep the family going for four days or so, and any fur is turned into, I dunno, blankets or pillows or stuffies. The necklaces are usually made out of bones or teeth." A shrug. "So I went out with my Dad and he taught me to hunt, and the first creature I killed was an arctic seal." He gleamed all over, the feeling of pride from that day unforgettable, "…these are…"

"They're teeth!" Zuko gasped, his eyes shining with awe. Sokka nodded so hard he thought his head just might roll from his shoulders, beaming, fuelled by Zuko's look of pure shock and excitement rolled into one. 

"They're teeth." A nod of pride. "My first kill."

"That's so awesome!" Zuko squealed, grinning. He turned his gaze back to his bucket of seashells. 

Sokka joined him, relishing the new sense of pride that massaged his scalp.  
"I still think you had a great idea," he praised, kicking his legs in the sand idly. "You can make your own. No one will know you're just pretending," he lied. He didn't think encouraging a Little to start hunting with next to no training was the best of ideas, and Zuko was little enough that everybody would just go along with it, anyway. "You can make up a story." He shrugged, thinking about it. "…hey, guys," he narrated in his best Zuko voice, cocking his head and pretending to brush sand from his arms, "Sorry I disappeared, I was just fighting a hairy warthog."

Zuko giggled. "Hey, guys.” He brandished a stick, waving it around, “I was just fighting an armadillo bear,"

"A Komodo rhino!"

"A walrus yak?!"

"A sabre-tooth tiger? Look out, here one comes now!" Sokka teased, pouncing on Zuko, all jabbing ticklish fingers.  
Zuko shrieked in surprise, fighting and squirming out of Sokka's grip. "No!" he giggled in return, eyes shining and lungs hurting he was whooping with so much laughter, "Not the sabre-tooth tiger!"

"Oh no, here comes the fiercest creature of all!" the others were heading over now, interested in what all the commotion was, and Sokka caught sight of a foot. "…It's tombstone teeth Toph!"

"Hey!" Toph whined, pushing Sokka over with a hefty thump. "I heard that!"  
Sokka toppled over like a birthday party jelly - taking Zuko with him, the two fell back into the sand with a whompf. Sokka giggled, shaking all over as he tried to keep quiet, and Zuko had stuffed both fists into his mouth. 

"Sorry, Toph, I didn't mean it," Sokka smiled sympathetically as he sat up, "I was teaching Zuko how to hunt stuff." 

"Watch it, baby steps," Toph folded her arms, squinting in Zuko's direction. "…I am pretty fierce, though." 

Zuko sat up, grimacing as Sokka brushed the sand from his hair. "Uh-huh," he told her, nibbling at his fingernails. They tasted like sand. Yuck! 

Sokka beamed, nudging Zuko. “Come inside with us. We’re gonna have a lazy dinner together. You can make your necklace, if you want?” 

Zuko wrinkled his nose, unsure. He didn’t want to go inside yet. It was still warm, the kind of warm where the evening drew in and hugged you tight. It wasn’t cold at all, and he did enjoy playing on the beach.  
Sokka saw the look on his face and hesitated, stilling. “…you don’t want to?”  
Zuko hummed, looking down, pressing his hands further into the sand. He shook his head. 

“What do you wanna do instead?” Sokka asked, shrugging. The water would be too cold to play in at this hour, and Zuko had plucked up all the cool seashells. 

Zuko flushed pink, thinking about it. “I saw you making sandcastles with Katara,” he spoke softly, trying not to let on how interested he had been in it. He had never done anything like that with Azula. He had tried, and she had taken the greatest pleasure in kicking it to nothing the second he finished. 

Sokka’s face lit up, twinkling and pleased. He rose up in excitement. “You want to make a sandcastle?! Yeah! Oh, I love makin’ sandcastles. Let’s make a super-duper big one!”

Zuko pawed at the sand with interest, piling it up into a wobbly dome shaped mound. Around him Sokka crawled, taking charge, 'okay, put some more sand here!', poking moats and tunnels, adding extra levels and windows and seaweed for curtains fit for only the biggest and baddest of hermit crabs - and Zuko kneeled next to him shaping wonky not-quite turrets so that by the time they were finished, the sandcastle was less of a castle, more of a mansion – and just as tall as the two of them. 

“Do you think it’ll be there by morning?” asked Zuko, very seriously, once he and Sokka were called inside by Katara. Given the fact that they had built it very close to the water, Sokka seriously doubted that. 

“…Maybe we can make a new one!” he beamed. “C’mon. I wanna help you make a necklace. Didn’t you say you had an arts and crafts bucket?” Sokka enthused. Zuko nodded bashfully. The two went indoors, for an evening of sequins and glitter glue and lurid watercolour paints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend, the one who inspired this fic, is a really great artist. I don't know if they're reading this (it'd be embarrassing if they weren't, right?) but I wrote this scene with them in mind. The thought of Zuko and Sokka making sandcastles, and then getting all messy and glittery and sequin-freckled when they make Zuko's 'necklace' actually makes me weep. I haven't written the arts and crafts/seashell necklace scene, but I really want to!!!! 
> 
> Also I'm not sure Sokka's necklace was ever explained in-canon so I might've just pulled a reason out of my arse there. I think it fits. :P
> 
> That Toph slander. I love her really, though. :P


	10. The Fire Nation Toy Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In disbelief at Zuko's classification (or rather - at his lack of Little things) our gang of ragtag heroes visit a toy store to rectify the situation. Zuko meets a friend.

Zuko squirmed uncomfortably as Sokka led him through the Fire Nation streets like he owned the place. If anything, he thought, it should've been the other way around. "I'm not sure this is a good idea," he whined softly, heart picking up. It turned out Aang was right - there was a toy store, tucked away in the city square. The scariest thing about it was that it was crowded with children – young children, spilling out of the front door clutching teddy bears or bouncy balls or teeny weeny model castles in their tiny hands. And here he was, much bigger than they but just as excited as them – if not even more. His tummy had a flurry of butterflies in it, not that he wanted to make this known. Even though he knew nobody really minded (least of all his friends) he felt like everyone had their eyes on him, like they knew. It wasn’t so much the worry of being laughed at any more – he had met so many people who hadn’t done so much as bat an eye at his Classification - it was that he was on the thin, dangerous precipice of letting everybody see what Littlespace was like for him. Not just Sokka, or- or Katara, or the Avatar. Everybody.

Sokka squeezed his hand, practically bouncing down the street the second he scoured out the garishly bright store sign (unmissable, red and gold with a teddy bear on the front). "It'll be fine! Relax!" 

"This is practically a rite of passage for Littles, Zuko!" Katara gleamed. 

"Besides," chipped in Aang, who was following him quite cheerfully, "Any one of us could be getting toys. Not just you." Life with the air nomads was pretty minimalist, but he supposed even the Avatar could have toys. Right? He looked toward Toph. They shared a shrug. 

The toy store was packed tight with people. To Zuko's surprise, Katara and Aang were entirely right – people of all ages and shapes and sizes and classifications were running around inside; tiny barely-toddling babies, tall caregivers paying bundles and bundles of coins for boxes and boxes of toys… and yes - shy, freshly-classified teens hiding behind their friends.   
Zuko hung close to Sokka as they stepped inside, slowly drinking it all in as much as he possibly could from behind his back. Wooden Fire Nation tribesmen peered at him from one corner, nestled together like Russian dolls each with a finicky wonky smile, hand painted. Miniature rubber farm animals clustered tightly in mason jars atop a high shelf, fake cotton Air Nomad gliders hung from hooks against the back wall with matching outfits on rails beneath. Small tables had sheets of paper littered across them, scribbled on by a passing little one, the rainbow of crayons offered worn down to stubs or snapped and strewn unloved across the table.   
That went without mentioning what they had for the Classified Littles; rompers covered in tiny fire ferrets with silver buttons that snapped at the crotch, baby bottles with little sky bison flying around the bottom, blankets with silk trims… everywhere he looked there was something new, something exciting to look at. He peered at Sokka, eyes wide, near enough buzzing with the excitement of it all.   
"…What do you want to look at?" Sokka asked cheerfully, face gleaming with childlike happiness even if he was the big one right now. 

Zuko shrugged, looking around again. This all seemed so overwhelming. There was so much to look at, so many interesting toys and clashing colours and chattering dolls – where would he start? "You pick!" He squirmed. 

"…Maybe over there?"

'Over there' was an impressive spiral of wooden alphabet blocks, reaching a point high in the air – higher and taller than Zuko even. Zuko broke free of the tight grip he had on Sokka's hand for the first time to intently study the blocks. They were like any other alphabet blocks made for a small child.   
Zuko looked at one.   
Chunky, with a big letter A stamped on it. On the other side of the block was a picture of an aardvark sloth. Next to it, the letter B, a badgerfrog. C, a cat owl. Sokka was next to him, taking blocks from the top row and piling them up in a tower. A precarious, very wobbly tower. His tongue poked out in concentration – and when he was done, he swiped the blocks so they all went clattering to the floor! Zuko jumped. He giggled loudly, unexpectedly, and when Sokka gave him a cheeky smile all he could do was gleam in return. "Sokka!" he squeaked, hands clamped over his mouth even as tiny giggles squeezed free.  
He hesitated. Now not looking at the small tower Sokka was making… but the big tower. It was a very big tower. His fingers twitched. As Sokka let out a short giggle and began to build his small tower back up again…   
…Zuko swiped a block from the big tower.   
Then another.   
Then, oh, a toucan puffin here… a koalasheep there…  
Then the big tower did the most fantastic thing of all. It wobbled, sinking in on itself in almost slow motion – as though gravity was misbehaving, bending around it, and then FELL with a great thundering thwunk-thwonk-thwank into itself. 

The block right at the tippy top of the tower trembled and fell directly onto Sokka's head. 

Sokka trembled like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning—bzbbzbzbzt!—and rubbed his crown where a fresh egg was forming. "Ow!"

Zuko spluttered again. "I like those." He grinned mischievously. Then, hesitant, "…sorry."

"S'okay." Blissfully, Sokka was big enough to ignore it. Taking a package of blocks he twisted in place, taking in all there was to explore. "Oh!" he gasped, eyes alight, tugging Zuko's hand excitedly. "I know! Let's get you a stuffie!"   
…Duh! Wasn't that what they had came here for in the first place? 

The back wall of the toy store was gridded with shelves, animals stuffed into their paddocks piled on top of one another but spilling out as if they were making a move to escape their little wooden zoo cages.   
Giant, poofy-bellied sky bison like Appa, slinky sea dragons with crinkly neon fins, bats with wings so big you could use them as a duvet. Zuko studied them intently. Poor animals. He almost wished he could take them all with him, imagining some sort of Noah's Ark scenario; he was sure they would have much more fun than they would being stuck here at the toy store, doomed to be picked up by a snotty-nosed kid. 

"What one do you want?" Sokka asked, hands outstretched for a fluffy platypus bear with a plastic beak; he cradled it in his arms and cooed at it as if it were a baby. "A platypus bear? Ooh, no!" he bounced a little, dropping the baby platybear in favour of pointing eagerly "…a polar bear like me?"

Zuko hummed, nibbling his thumbnail. He scooped up a polar bear and looked down its snout, into its beady little eyes. It didn't look right. Its eyes were black and lopsided and its fur hung shaggily across them, making it squint angrily. It certainly didn't look as gently loving as Sokka's polar bear. Shivering, the prince volleyed the stuffie back into its South Pole paddock. "Nuh-uh."

"Pick me, pick me!" The silky underside of an otterpenguin's flipper stroked at his cheek; Zuko giggled, squirming shyly away from it. It wasn't an otterpenguin at all, it was just Sokka.

"No, Sokka!" he shook his head, moving a little further down the aisle, and it was there he stopped. Piled together on one of the shelves, flat on their shells or splayed out bottom first and wings akimbo, was a family of turtleducks.   
…Oh! Zuko liked turtleducks. When he was little the duckpool always had a family of turtleducks in it, and he loved the babies especially – waddling around with wobbly new-baby footsteps or the way they headbutted him for more bread if they thought he was taking too long… or splashing and cheeping angrily away from his sister. He gasped softly, hands outstretched for one, voice tiny. "Duckies…!" he pointed, flushing a pleased shade of pink.

Sokka gasped too, jumping up to pull a duck from the shelf and pushing it excitedly into Zuko's arms. "Duckies!" he agreed, grinning impishly and folding his arms. He hadn't seen Zuko like this before, ever, not even since they had learned about his classification. His voice was the smallest and softest it had ever been since they'd met. It had worked!

Zuko hummed, burying his face into the furry underbelly of the duck and then lifting it to get a closer look. He (for it was a he, Zuko just knew) had a fuzzy olive gold neck and two bright sparkly eyes. His shell wasn't tough and scaly like a real turtleduck, it was soft and velvety. The undersides of the wings were golden and satin-y; they crinkled when Zuko gave the duck a squeeze.   
His beak was a little bit wonky but it made it look as though he was smiling. "This one, Sokka." 

Sokka beamed, giving Zuko's shoulder an overexcited squeeze. "Okay!"  
~

"Hey, you two!" It was Katara, closely followed by Toph and Aang. "What'd you get?"

Zuko held up his new friend shyly, free hand clamped onto Sokka's. 

"Blocks, too!" Sokka beamed. "Whattabout you guys?"

The others shrugged, looking at one another.   
"…we got Zuko a present, actually!" smiled Aang, a little nervously. 

Toph nodded, holding out the present. It was a hardback book, pastel blue, made for small babies. The picture on the front was of a flying bison, mid-flight. It had bumpy looking horns atop its head. Printed on the top in the biggest letters imaginable was the title:   
"That's Not MY Flying Bison!" (and then, underneath, smaller: 'its horns are too bumpy'!)  
"Even I can read it to you, Zuko," Toph laughed lightly, running a finger across the bumpy horn. "Sorta. It's a touchy-feely book!"  
Zuko peered with interest at the book, nodding, overwhelmed by how excited he was. Presents! For him! From his friends! "Thank you," he blushed, squeezing his duckling's wing tightly. The crinkles made him feel calm.

“We got something else, too.” Katara smiled. She held out a brown paper bag. “We weren’t sure if you’d like this one. But I know Sokka does, so…” Even if Zuko didn’t like this present, even if he scoffed and threw it back at them, at least Sokka would appreciate it.

There, inside the bag – was a baby’s bottle. Exactly the same as Sokka’s, just with a red lid rather than a blue one. “Oh…!” he squeaked with surprise. Now- now he could finally find out what Sokka meant when he said that bottles of milk made your tummy go ‘woooh’. Still, it was a little bit scary, because it was so new. “Thank you!” he squeaked, and despite himself, was very excited indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your daily serving of mindless fluff. :P Toph """reading""" the book to Zuko or Sokka is something I'd love to write about. Or see written about. How cute!  
> ...I'm sorry if I don't respond to your comments very often. I'm having a Stressful Time right now. I love all the comments I receive and look forward to them so please don't feel discouraged if I go AWOL. I'll still upload and appreciate ya'll. 
> 
> The eagle eyed amongst you may notice that the chapter count increased...


	11. That's Not MY Flying Bison!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...his tail is too stumpy. 
> 
> Sokka attempts (key word, 'attempts') to read Zuko a story.

“Zuko?” Sokka smiled tentatively, squeezing the hardback book to his chest. “...do you want to read your story?”

(It was nighttime, and everybody was winding down from their trip into the village. Zuko had busied himself with his new duckling, Katara was preparing their picnic dinner, and Aang and Toph played a very enthusiastic game with one another that seemed to combine checkers, Earthbending, and snap. Toph was winning if her excited yelling was any indication of that.  
Sokka, on the other hand, was happy to lie down against Appa and watch everyone else — although by now he was getting that sleepy, foggy feeling in his head — the kind that meant his Littlespace was creeping closer. His tummy felt funny, too, fluttery and sort of sicky, and he couldn’t work out what it was.  
It was about time for him to have his bottle and head to sleep. Or it would have been had it not been so noisy, or if Katara had prepared him a bottle, or, or if Zuko didn’t need to be Little, too. Maybe—maybe that was why his tummy was upset…?  
…He would have to take matters into his own hands. Maybe—maybe he could stave off his Littlespace somehow? Maybe – if he couldn’t have his bottle yet? – just a quick cuddle with his polar bear would be okay…?  
Looking around frantically, he found his polar bear wrapped up tightly in this morning’s blankets and slipped it surreptitiously into his arms, burying his face into its soft grey fur. His brain felt like it was melting.  
This would have to do.  
This would have to do for now because—he stole a glance at Zuko (who was mumbling to himself softly, 'Good, Mr Duckie!' in between throwing-catching-and-cuddling his stuffie)—Zuko was still Little and that meant Zuko needed the most looking after now.  
...slowly, hesitantly, Sokka slipped his polar bear back beneath his bedtime blankets—out of sight out of mind, of course—and sat straight, twiddling his thumbs and trying to fight the pang of upset that was building in his chest. He looked around again and slowly his gaze fell onto...  
Zuko’s new book. Of course! Zuko’s new book! Sokka grabbed it with outstretched, excited hands, and clutched it to his chest. Maybe... maybe Zuko would wind down if they read a bedtime story together, and— and it would soothe his creeping-closer Littlespace, too...)

Zuko paused, squeezing his turtleduck and cocking his head thoughtfully. “Mmkay.” He smiled. 

Sokka made grabby hands, urging the firebender close. Zuko looked at himself, squeezing his turtleduck for dear life by its neck, and crawled into Sokka’s lap. “Story,” he declared, looking up at him.

Sokka cleared his throat, putting the book flat in front of them. “ _That’s_ not my flying bison!” he read. There on the page was a picture of a flying bison. It was mid-flight. It had bright, black eyes. “... its eyes are too shiny.”

Zuko poked the shiny eyes. He looked at Appa. Then he leaned forward and looked even closer, scrutinising. “...too shiny,” he agreed, nodding. 

Sokka giggled. He turned the page. “That’s not my flying bison!” This bison had big, squishy black paw pads. When Zuko touched them, they wobbled and moved under his fingertips like jelly. Brrr. “... its paws are too squishy.”

“...too squishy!” Zuko hummed, wrinkling his nose. He patted Appa’s fat paws. The bison gruffed softly, moving away. It was late and he wasn’t in the mood for any playtime. 

“Very squishy!” Sokka grimaced. He turned the page. This page had yet another flying bison. This flying bison had its big pink tongue lolling out. He giggled to himself, not remembering that he was meant to be the grown-up. “That’s not _my_ flying bison!” he squeaked out, “...His tongue is too looooong!”

Appa gruffed again, shifting closer to the pair. On second thoughts, he was very invested in storytime, too.  
He lifted his head...  
...and he opened his great big mouth...  
...and he licked, all warm and slobbery, on Sokka’s cheek. Not just a little weeny baby lick. A fat, dribbly lick. Yuck!

Sokka burst into a fresh round of giggles, whining and squirming and trying to wipe the slobber away.  
“Appa!” He whined, his voice the telltale lilting kind like it always was when his Littlespace was creeping in.  
Huffing, he turned the page quickly. Storytime was nearly done and then he could cuddle up with his paci, too, and that was a comfort to his wiggly tummy. “... _that’s_ not my flying bison!” he parroted—the words were getting kinda shimmery now ‘cuz Little Sokka didn’t read very well, but he still sort of knew what to say—“...his tail is too hairy.”  
This page had a flying bison with lots of thin shiny hair on his tail, like spaghetti. Slowly, Sokka ran his fingers through the thread, nodding to himself. Too hairy. Not like Appa’s tail at all.  
He turned the page. There was another flying bison, and this one had a black scaly nose. He patted the scales, interested, and smiled with gentle awe. They felt all crinkly under his fingers. “too scaly...” he murmured to himself thoughtfully, fingertips creeping closer to his mouth.

Zuko studied Sokka intently. He was biting his fingernails and he wasn’t paying Zuko any attention at all, nor the story he was supposed to be reading. “Sokka, you’re not doing a good job of reading,” He complained, peering hard at the page spread out in front of him. It had a big squat fat nose on it. Hmm. He couldn’t read the words when he was all small – they kinda jumbled in his brain, looking familiar and scarily different at the same time - but Sokka wasn’t doing a very good job of reading them to him, either. He glanced a look at his stuffed duckling. Perhaps Mr Duckie could read the story, instead…? Zuko deposited the duckling in front of the book. ‘ _Quack_ ,’ said Mr Duckie, because he only read the highest of highbrow literature, not baby books.  
Hmpf. Zuko grumbled. Reaching up, he pawed at the boy's hand. “Stoppit ‘n read my story.” His chin jutted out, gaze drifting to Sokka’s hand, the one he was nibbling. He studied Sokka for a moment.  
“...Not allowed to do that.” He reminded. It was true. Sokka said he wasn’t allowed to suck his thumbs. Or his fingers. Only a pacifier, because pacifiers didn’t have germs on ‘em.  
He tugged.

He didn’t realise the extent of his strength, because as small as Zuko was mentally, physically he was just as strong as his sixteen-year-old self, enough to yank Sokka’s fingers from his mouth - and send the boy tumbling out of Littlespace in an instant. 

Sokka stared at the boy for a long time. His head was fuzzy, reeling from bouncing between both big and Littlespace so quickly. “W- what was that for?!” he whimpered, puzzled, his eyes welling with stinging tears as, instinctively, he jerked away from Zuko. Had he not been floating somewhere in Littlespace he would have understood that Zuko had good, innocent, intentions - but as Sokka, little Sokka, having had to hold back his Littlespace in favour of Zuko, it felt like the worst slight someone had ever made. 

“B- but...!” Zuko stammered, his heart beginning to thud unhappily in his chest. He just wanted his story! He didn’t mean to make Sokka upset!

Katara cleared her throat, coming between the brewing commotion. Sokka was turned away, scowling, visibly fighting the urge to stick his fingers into his mouth if his trembling hands were anything to go by.  
Zuko was curled up in a ball. She knelt first to his level and winced to see that he was red - like he was going to cry. “I think... I think Sokka isn’t feeling so big right now, honey,” she murmured, soothingly. This was inevitable, after all, the moment Sokka had decided it was his responsibility to take care of Zuko. “…Sokka, isn’t that right?”

Sokka grumbled. He couldn’t help it. His belly was all squirmy and he was grumpy. He was feeling Little and he wanted to be taken care of, not more taking care of himself. Not even reading the story helped like he thought it woulda.  
Not when you had to be big enough to read all the words. He was… he was still thinking of his failed invasion plot, too. It was his one chance to impress Dad, and- and he had failed. That, and he had been so busy he didn’t have the chance to talk to Dad – properly talk to him, about his Classification. Katara had always insisted Dad would be super proud of Sokka, but- but that was before they had reunited and Sokka had declared this great invasion plan to overthrow Fire Lord Ozai when they had the Day of Black Sun - and he had failed. Now his belly was full of wiggly worried worms that whispered at him and told him that Dad certainly wasn’t going to be proud of him, not for his classification, nor for failing the invasion plan. He hugged himself.

“...Zuko’s right though. Your fingers and thumbs’ll be all gross. Here.”  
Smiling, she held out his pacifier; he swiped it from her hands like it was his only lifeline and stuffed it into his mouth, falling still and suckling.  
The change was instant; all of the tension drained from his body. His face dropped in relaxation and, rubbing his eyes, he slowly turned to face the two again. It felt like every time he suckled his pacifier he fell deeper into Littlespace and his grumpiness wicked away.  
Katara just smiled, offering Zuko his pacifier too - he took it gratefully. “Now. I think you should finish your story. There’s one more page left.” 

Sucking quietly on his pacifier, handle click-click-clicking softly against the shield, Zuko peered with interest at the next page of the book. Sokka too, except the words were still swimming about on the page. Not only was he Little now he was really sleepy.  
This page had a flying bison on it. It had a poofy cloud on its belly.

“ _That’s_ my flying bison!” narrated Katara, cooing softly as she retrieved Sokka’s polar bear and Zuko’s turtleduck, plopping them into their respective owner’s arms. Luckily the book was short and simple enough to narrate without even looking at it. “...his fur is really soft!”

“Appa _is_ really soft...” mumbled Sokka, words slurring a little as he sucked his pacifier and held onto Polar Bear a little tighter. He curled closer to Zuko. Zuko was warm and soft and nice to cuddle up to, too. Almost as nice as his polar bear. Huh.

“Mhmm...” Zuko agreed. His pacifier had been abandoned remarkably quickly, spat out in favour of chewing on his poor turtleneck's wing, instead. Rolling over, he tucked himself as close as possible to Sokka. “Softer than...” his brow furrowed, evidently the cogs in his brain were sleepily turning. “...a soft thing.” He yawned. 

Sokka giggled. But he was too tired and too small to make his mouth say any more words, and when he was tired and small the squirms in his belly fizzled away to nothing at all. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another scene that reminded me of my friend, I mean I wrote it and thought ah I'd love it if they drew this. Like I think it's the kind of thing they would draw. :)  
> If they are reading this:  
> 1\. that's really embarrassing???????  
> 2\. I'm not asking cos I'm not that cheeky I just think it's cute x
> 
> Honestly writing this chapter was really therapeutic! I dunno, sometimes it's nice to write Little stuff. I don't have a Littlespace as such myself but I love toys/dolls/little kiddo stuff. It's just fun, man, it's just fun.


	12. Duckling Eating Squids (Ember Island)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko learns why it's not the greatest of ideas to drink all your soda before the play starts, or to guzzle down that super spicy popcorn. Then, there's a duckling eating squid. 
> 
> _“He’s a duck!” Zuko squeezed Mr Duckie tightly to his chest, snuffling into his feathery head. Ducks could swim in water, couldn't they? What was the big deal?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains omorashi (pants wetting/desperation to pee) so if that isn't your thing you can skip this chapter.

"I don't know why you're so excited," Zuko mumbled, kicking at a pebble on the ground. "It's so awful. Like, _really_ bad."  
Sokka had found a flyer for the Ember Island Players' newest stage play when they were out the other day. They always had a theatre show playing somewhere – a really gross, sappy, terrible one, that was. This one was about the Avatar, so it was going to be doubly bad.   
Zuko had never enjoyed their theatre shows, not even when he was a little boy - when his mother dragged him to see some slushy romance play and he had to sit on the uncomfortable chairs that pinched at his bottom for what felt like fore-e-ver – with Azula, also bored, making her own fun by pinching him or giving him a Chinese burn or making very horribly realistic gagging sounds at the smooshy mushy kissing on stage that made him want to be a bit sick, too. He could, hand on heart, never remember an Ember Island play that he'd enjoyed – and Mom had dragged him and Azula to so very many!

Sokka, however, was ecstatic. 'They made a show with me in it!' he preened, hugging the flyer to his chest and prancing around like he was the king of the castle. As if that somehow made it any less bad. He hadn’t shut up about the play the second he’d jumped up and torn the flyer from the plinth it was pinned to.   
Zuko rolled his eyes, huffed overdramatically, tugging Sokka to a stop.   
He frowned. "…goin' to the theatre is fun, though, Zuko." Never mind the fact that Sokka had seen about two theatre plays in his entire life. "You get popcorn… n soda… n snacks… in that big popcorn bucket. You know, the one so big you can hang it around your neck? Or, ooh, icecream, or…"

Zuko smiled faintly. Sokka seemed more excited for the snacks than the actual show. "…I didn't get any of that!" he said, shrugging. Maybe that was why it was so boring. Dad always refused them anything (especially Zuko, as heir to the throne) and Mom only ever snuck teeny little cookies that got all squished and gross in her purse.

Sokka stared at him as though he'd just threatened to behead Polar Bear. "What?! Zuko, you're so funny. You're kidding, right? You gotta be kidding."  
Zuko stared back. Sokka swallowed thickly in surprise. "Not kidding," he realised. His smile fell, then quickly reappeared. "Okay! Well, this time, let's get everything!" he giggled. 

"Everything…?" Zuko asked. He hesitated thoughtfully.  
~

"Can I have some?"

Zuko sat in the highest seats there ever were at the theatre. The kind that was so high up he could see the entire stage without having to squeeze in between people, that made him a little bit dizzy if he looked down. He squirmed a little bit. Sokka was sat next to him. He had a big bucketful of cheesy-sizzle popcorn… things, luminous orange – and fire flakes on top. Zuko couldn't help but look with hungry interest as Sokka crunched his way through them. They looked so yummy, it wasn't fair. Surely Katara wouldn't notice if he only had a few….  
"…Do you have any soda left?" Sokka whispered to him; "They're super hot." 

Zuko had a big popcorn bucket hanging around his neck. It was red, with a cartoonish Chinese dragon's face on it and big emerald green scales at the sides. The second he had seen it at the concession stand, eyes all glittery and excited (with the smallest expression Sokka had ever seen) Sokka went right over and got it for him.  
Katara didn't let him get the cheesy sizzly popcorn (it was 'too hot') – so Sokka had got some instead, whispering that Zuko could have some if he was really sneaky about it. As for Zuko himself, he had had to make do with the popcorn trail mix. It was nice of course – it had chocolate candies hidden inside, all brightly coloured gemstones melting all over each popcorn kernel – but Sokka's sizzly popcorn looked even nicer. Still, they were nice enough to get him a soda, the biggest soda there was, even if it did come in a ridiculously big dragon-patterned beaker with a twirly-whirly straw – the kind Dad scoffed at, said was for children much younger than Zuko, and common ones at that. Zuko nodded earnestly at Sokka, noisily slurping at his soda to prove it and appreciatively smacking his lips together for good measure. "Mhm," he whispered. "But I don't have any popcorn left." He indicated his empty bucket. His fingertips were covered in smeary little melted chocolate smudges. 

Sokka giggled. He poured some of his sizzly popcorn into Zuko's popcorn bucket. "They're super spicy!" he warned, giggling, "Like, 'breathe fire like a dragon', kinda spicy. So drink all your soda and don't eat them too fast!"

Zuko nodded, appreciatively crunching a handful of popcorn. Ooh. Sokka was right! Spicy! He frowned, pressing his lips together, and reaching for his soda. They were spicier than they looked! "Spicy," he mumbled. 

Sokka nodded. The lights in the theatre began to dim; Zuko gasped, awed, and fell to quiet crunching and sipping as the curtain rose. The show was about to begin!  
~

Zuko leaned forward in his seat, kicking his legs. Not because the show was very interesting – 'cause he was right, it really was awful! – but because his popcorn bucket was empty and his mouth was all spicy and he had drunk all of his soda to make the spicy feeling go away and now his belly had that annoying ticklishly full feeling, like he needed to pee. He looked away from the stage and down the aisle of seats, trying to mentally map out where the bathrooms were – but it was all dark and the last time he had been here he was still small enough to hide behind Mama's skirt and let her lead him… so he wasn't sure he could find the way by himself.   
He sat back, drumming his fingers against the arms of his chair instead, pressing his feet against the chair in front. Oh well, he was just going to have to wait. That was okay, he was sure it wasn't going to be too long until the break.

"That guy is nothing like me!" Sokka grumbled. Aang was grumpy 'cause his player was a girl, Sokka was grumpy 'cause he ate a lot, and Katara’s player cried a lot. Not that Zuko's player was any better. He was all grumpy and whined about honour like a baby. Zuko, the real Zuko, giggled, pressing his hands flat between his legs. Ouch. Giggling made the tickles a little bit worse. He wriggled slightly, biting his lip. 

Sokka frowned at him. "…are you okay? You're all wriggly!"

Zuko nodded quickly, blushing. He didn't wanna say. Sokka was still enjoying the show so he didn't want to disrupt his fun to take him – and besides, he could wait, he didn't wanna go yet anyways. "My legs are tired of sitting," he explained, sheepishly. 

Sokka accepted this answer easily enough. "The interval is soon!" he beamed, reassuring. 

Zuko nodded, turning back to the stageplay. He kicked his legs out again and the tickles went away. "…Can I have some of your soda?" He was kinda thirsty now all his soda was gone.

Sokka passed over his cup.   
~

Zuko buried his face into the theatre programme. "The Ember Island Players Present: The Boy Inside The Iceberg", he read for what felt like the millionth time (or so he thought; his Littlespace was making the letters dance around the page and not really make much sense) Ugh. The play was so boring! And bad! It wasn't doing enough to distract him from potty dancing, either. Not that reading and re-reading the theatre programme was doing him any better, mind you...   
Whining, he put his hands between his legs and squeezed on tightly. This was just like when Mama brought him to the theatre as a kid. She always told him he had to tell her if he needed to get up and he never did and then there they were, stood in the ladies' bathrooms (oh the shame) as Mama mopped him clean and whispered that next time he should just ask to get up and Azula giggled to herself from behind her hands. Except he never did ask, because he always knew that next time he'd be just fine, and then next time – surprise, surprise - he wasn't fine.   
That was with Mama, though - that was different. Now he was with—with Katara and Toph and Aang and Sokka, and that was embarrassing!   
Hesitantly, he nudged Sokka's arm. The lights were going up now for the play's first intermission, the players moving behind the curtain.   
Sokka turned to face him, mumbling. "…What?"

"Can we get up?" Zuko fidgeted, pressing his feet against one another. 

"Yeah, we can!" Sokka beamed, his face etched with determination. "'Cause I'm gonna find pretend-me and give him some better material!" He grabbed Zuko's hand in his own, squeezed. 

"B- but-!" Zuko stammered, eyes wide. Sokka wasn't listening. He dragged Zuko after him.

"Sokka, but I have to—"   
He tried again, even if this time Sokka was engrossed in enthusiastic conversation with his not-quite doppelganger. Being up and out of his seat wasn't doing any favours for the full, ticklish sensation in his middle. In fact, it just made it feel a whole lot worse. There was only so much hopping from foot to foot he could do before it got too much to bear and sent him squirming over at the waist - but sitting still like the Zuko-sized water balloon he was, wasn't exactly achievable. His face was all warm and red. Perhaps out of the effort it took to hold it, or perhaps out of embarrassment – Zuko couldn't work out.

"What?" asked Sokka, oblivious, and Zuko almost wished he had asked Katara because he was sure Katara would work it out a lot quicker than Sokka would. But that was what he got for agreeing to let the Little look after him.

"I have to pee," Zuko squeaked, face red and gleaming in embarrassment. 

"…oh!" Sokka whispered in surprised realisation. That made sense. He was really wriggly earlier, wasn't he? - and he'd had a lot of soda! "Okay! Um, let's go to the bathroom! I think it's this way!" he beamed, cheerfully.   
Zuko whined; his hand clutched in Sokka's. This was just like when he was with Mama. Uh oh. That wasn't good news.  
~

"Sokka!" Zuko moaned, nervously. "…Ooohh, tell them all to go away!"  
His hands were pressed and squeezing tight to the front of his pants. There was a line of people in front of him, and to look at it was as if the line got longer and longer there in front of his eyes. He bounced. "It's an emergency!"

Sokka bit his lip, seeing the line shuffle slo-o-owly in front of them. "…I think it's an emergency for everybody, Zuko!" he whispered in worry, his hand on the small of Zuko's back urging him forward when they could. It certainly seemed it. Potty-dancing was supposed to be something only Littles did, Littles and tiny children, but nearly everyone here was doing it somehow.

Zuko whimpered, his pulse racing. "I want to go first," he insisted in a squeak, hopping - as if it was that easy; as if Sokka was powerful enough to shove them to the front of the line. But he wasn't and so he had to squirm and fidget and wobble his way to the front of the line instead. "I am going to explode!"   
One of Azula's favourite things to do every summertime was to fill water balloons - stretching them over the faucet to fill them up and then tying and squeezing them tight, waiting for them to explode. They never would, not as spectacularly as she wanted – they would spring a leak and dribble a bit and then she would get bored and post them through the top of Zuko's shorts. Then they would explode all down his legs making him look as if he'd wet himself, which Azula found hysterical. Even more so when Zuko started whining for Mom and stomping drippy little footprints all over the place.  
Zuko sort of wondered if humans could explode like that too. Gross!  
He hoped not… even if he was very close to finding out – especially if they didn’t move soon.

Sokka stood beside him mumbling little words of encouragement – tiny, 'you're fine's!' and 'it's okay!'s in between squeezing his hand, a little lost as to what else he could do other than hope Zuko didn't actually explode right there. The rational side of his brain blew big fat rude raspberries at the mere idea... the Little, over-active side of his brain considered it an alarming possibility.  
"Look, it's your go!" he urged when they had reached the front of the line, hurriedly pushing Zuko through the door of the bathroom. 

...He ran in, hopping and squeaking, Sokka at his ankles

and then- 

and then- 

stopped!

It was as if his feet were frozen to the floor; he trembled, but his legs didn't move and neither did his feet and his hands were clinging really tight to the front of his pants and they were getting all warm and wet and _gross_.

"Go!" Sokka squealed, pushing him. Why had he stopped?! He was right there! "…Go! Move!"

"I- I can't-!" Zuko squeaked, frozen to the spot, marching just a bit. His voice was tiny.

Sokka was about to ask why, but then he saw the circular patch appearing on the front of Zuko's pants; then the quickly-growing puddle.   
"Uh oh," he said softly, sympathetically.

Zuko sniffled, frustrated and frozen to the spot, warmth seeping past his fingers and against his palms. His eyes burned with tears as he watched it run in thin lines all down his legs, into his socks, around his shoes into this great big puddle. This was just like when he was with Mama, except- except Mama at least cleaned him up a little bit and- and Sokka was just looking at him all bug-eyed in shock. He whimpered, and it was all trembly as if he was about to cry – he didn't like that feeling at all. "I- I'm sorry," he keened at Sokka, trying and failing to work him out. Was he angry? Was he going to shout? Leave him here by himself? "I- I tried, um… really hard!" He did try! He did! It just sort of… happened!

"…It's okay," said Sokka, squeezing his shoulder, his voice soft and plaintive as he came back to life a bit. "…we can get you cleaned up. Easy-peasy!"  
~

“...He can’t get in the tub with you, though,” Sokka pointed out, rubbing his temple. 

“He’s a duck!” Zuko squeezed Mr Duckie tightly to his chest, snuffling into his feathery head. Ducks could swim in water, couldn't they? What was the big deal?  
He squirmed on the closed toilet seat, looking at the filled bathtub. He was still wearing his soiled clothes from earlier, having had to trudge back home in them, and by now they were heavy and cold and made his legs itch. 

“He’ll sink!” Sokka shrugged, pouring bubble bath into the water and swirling it with one finger. “Let him sit in the basin and keep you company, instead?”

Zuko watched as Sokka poured the bubble soap into the warm water, as curling plumes of steam danced into the air, as mountains of big fluffy bubbles began to erupt in the tub. “…Mm’kay,” he sniffed, propping Mr Duckie up into the empty basin. Mr Duckie watched Zuko with his wonky happy eyes, stretched out on his belly as if the basin was a giant white Lilypad he was floating on.

Zuko squirmed, shivering a little. “You can go now,” he blushed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

Sokka nodded, rising to his feet. “I can go get your ‘jamas,” he smiled, “and afterwards we can have chocolate milk. In your dragon cup?”

That sounded… yummy. Hmm.  
Zuko nodded, urgent. He looked at his toes, pressing them tight against the floor and then against one another, waiting for the telltale creaked click that meant Sokka had left him in peace. When it came Zuko relaxed, the knot in his tummy loosening. “Come on, Mr Duckie!” he whispered sneakily, clambering into the bathtub with an almighty (very wet) crash the second he’d shed his clothes. “…don’t you want a bath too?”  
He didn’t care what Sokka said. All turtleducks liked water, even the fluffity-stuffity kind. Besides, bathtime was boring otherwise.

 _“I take it I don’t have much of a choice,”_ said Mr Duckie, bracing himself as Zuko went divebombing into the soap-sudded water… sending his stuffed friend headfirst into the murky depths of the tub. _Mmmm_ , Mr Duckie sunk to the floor of the tub, suds clinging to his backside. _Apple scented bubbles if he wasn’t mistaken._   
Just what every growing turtleduck needed. 

Zuko giggled. “Oh no, it’s a wave!” he said, sending his stuffie soaked-through and soaring down the length of the tub. “Oh no, it’s- it’s not a wave, it’s a pirate!” 

For twenty minutes Mr Duckie got very well acquainted with two pirates, three cannonballs, one man-sized duckling-eating squid, one weeny mermaid (and the prickled end of Katara’s hairbrush when - once Zuko had declared bathtime over, patted himself dry, and tugged on his nightclothes - he had deposited the sodden stuffed animal in front of his friends with the insistence that he needed drying off too... only to get fed up with this task exactly forty-six seconds in.)

“How’s that?” Katara combed through the wet feather plush for the fourth time before patting the wetness out. By now every one of its feathers stuck up on end, like a puffball with a beak stuck on. Or perhaps as though it had been struck by lightning. “All clean?”

Zuko mumbled, taking an obnoxiously long slurp of his chocolate milk as he scrutinised his stuffed friend. “Mhm!” he decided, mouth popping from the straw. He made grabby hands. 

“I told you not to put him in the tub!” Sokka said, but he wasn’t angry – he just giggled. 

“It was important!” Zuko shrugged, sipping his chocolate milk and cuddling against his now considerably fuzzier apple-scented mallard. Who was going to save everybody from the giant snaggle-toothed duckling-eating squids otherwise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the duckling talks. Fight me. 
> 
> ...not really. :P
> 
> I'm not really a fan of this chapter but when I read through this fic in its entirety (when I thought I was ready to upload it as a finished fic, lol) I thought it needed this. So here it is. Poor Zuko. TBH the omorashi in this chapter is really mild compared to what I usually write because he's only a small wee bab. Although this is the third omorashi story I've written about Zuko now. Poor lil thing!


	13. Twilight Try-out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka tries to encourage Zuko into taking the next step of his wobbly baby-stepping sort of journey. The next cotton-soft and crinkly baby-powdered step. Hmm.

"I'm just sayin'. I think you should wear one," said Sokka, folding his arms. He held the offending object out at arm's length. 

Zuko looked at it with utter disgust in his eyes, nose wrinkled. He sat back. "Why? I'm not a baby. Not like that." He squirmed, hugging himself. His insides chugged with shame at the thought. 

"Because—because I do," Sokka nodded, as though this was a solid argument. It wasn't, not really, it was the sort of argument a young child would come up with. But Sokka wasn't about to address the elephant in the room, even when said elephant was wearing a big feather boa and pirouetting its giant bottom right in front of their faces – the fact of the matter being that Zuko needed them. He had already had at least three accidents and it wasn't as if they could carry on letting him leave puddles all over the place like an overexcited puppy. 'Specially not if he was gonna be the Fire Lord someday. What kinda Fire Lord did… that? "I- I mean, they're not that bad. They're soft and warm… they're like pants, kinda?" 

"You're just saying this after what happened at the theatre!" Zuko curled even tighter into himself, insecure, hating how high and tight and _Little_ his voice was. "That's not fair, that was only once! I didn't mean to!" 

Sokka bit his lip. "No it wasn't," he said softly. "It wasn't only once." If it was he didn't think it'd be such a big deal.

Zuko blinked, frowning, uncurling himself. If '…?' was an emotion, Sokka swore it was written all over his face. He sighed softly. "It wasn't only once. You wet the bed, like, twice. We didn't want you to be embarrassed or anything. We had Katara just…" he wriggled his fingers, "…bend it away?"

"We…?" his voice died then refuelled but was no higher than a squeak, "…you did _what_?!" 

"Yeah, I- I mean…" Sokka stammered. "It just kinda happened…?"

Zuko was simmering, red-faced, whether it was out of embarrassment or anger he couldn't work out. His pulse was racing, white-hot - and looking at Sokka with his wobbly hesitant smile like everything was okay, the diaper folded neatly against his chest, made him boil over with embarrassment. It wasn't okay. It wouldn't ever be okay. "Don't talk to me," he shoved past the boy, surprisingly forceful considering Sokka was taller and stockier than he. 

"Zuko, wait--!"

"I said, don't talk to me!" Zuko snarled, little pearls of spit collecting at the corner of his mouth, stomping away. He had the dramatic exit down pat. Sokka couldn't help but think he'd been practising.   
~

For the rest of the day, Zuko couldn't hide his bad mood. He threw himself into firebending practice with Aang, launching thick walls of fire toward the twelve-year-old that deep down he knew were a little too intense for him to handle. Aang ducked and dodged the curls and plumes just barely, mumbling in surprise.   
"Zuko, you're going too fast for me!" he said hesitantly, stumbling as he attempted to copy the firebender's stance to send out a curve of fire of his own. He thought he might've if only he could pinpoint a particular stance between the smoking wisps that separated him and his teacher. Falling still, puzzled, Aang scratched his head. Was Zuko angry at him? It sure felt like it. Although he wasn't sure what he had done wrong. 

" _I'm_ not going too fast, you're just not experienced enough," Zuko bit in return, even if it wasn't quite true. "You need to keep practising! You think the Fire Lord's going to go easy on you?" His voice was dripping with venom but behind it, he felt a pulsing sense of catharsis, like all the embarrassment of the morning shifted and fell away if he took it out on Aang. Rubbing his temples, he twisted on the spot. "…If you're tired I guess we can practice some more later," he muttered.

"…Zuko is acting weird," said Aang, in between bites of a sandwich. He didn't even come for lunch with them; shuffling past silently without giving the group a passing glance.

Sokka shrugged, devouring his sandwich in three great gulps. "Yeah. I think he's just embarrassed still. After... you know. The theatre." 

Aang nodded, satisfied with that answer; well, if it was him, he'd be embarrassed too. Sokka didn't go into it any more than that. Not that he thought Aang would care or even tease Zuko about it, but rather that Zuko would be even more embarrassed had Sokka made such a big deal about it.  
~

Tiptoeing out of his bedroom, Zuko sniffled. Night had drawn in and—and what was it? Was it the worry about what he was pulling himself into? The shame? An overindulgence of lemonade this afternoon? Whatever it was, he had been dreaming - dreaming of himself so tiny and small again, falling and falling – caught again, then, by Azula – a giant, overblown Azula, who cackled so hard he saw every one of her pointed teeth. She held him between thumb and forefinger like he was just a tiny mosquito and dropped him into a giant white bathtub, a giant white slippery bathtub that he couldn't get out of; every time he ran up the sides he would slip back down again and land on his bottom, or—or Azula would slap him away – and then Azula ran the faucets to drown him away down the drain, and Father was there, laughing, cheering—and then, then Zuko woke up and found that the water from the bathtub had made its way into his bed and all over him, too. Again. Mumbling unhappily, he gathered the duvet and sheets from his bed, all heavy and yucky in his arms, to take to the washroom. His eyes ached with tiredness—what time was it?—as he shuffled in the direction of the washroom on autopilot. 

"…Zuko?"

Sokka paused in surprise. "Zuko, are you okay?" he frowned. “What’s the matter?” He had only just gotten up himself – his mind was whirling like a ride at the funfair, never settling enough for him to slip into sleep. He’d only got up in the hope it’d exhaust him.

Zuko shifted, squirming, eyes wide and fear-stricken. "N- nothin'!" he lied, his voice tight. Way to be subtle.

He eyed the sheets Zuko was holding, how they trembled in his grip. "Did.. did you have an accident?" Sokka stepped forward, concern crinkled into his face. 

Zuko whined. He dropped his sheets and ran.  
~

"…Please try it. For me. You don't have to tell anybody." Sokka sat flush against the door of the closet knowing that Zuko was sat flush on the opposite side because in the short time they'd hidden out at the beach house the closet was where he had hidden when they had argued. There was a joke in there somewhere, he supposed, but he didn't say it. "No one else will see it from under your clothes. No one else is going to know it’s there, even. Just me and you. And 'sides, they really don't feel that bad." He chose to ignore the fact that Katara, the budding caregiver, would probably be able to suss this out by just hearing the tiniest crinkle.

Zuko sighed, shifting, opening the door the tiniest possible crack. "If I try it, just once, will you never mention it ever again?" he asked. His voice was tipped with bitterness but he also sounded… tired. Tired and considering and unsure of himself.

Sokka beamed to himself, posting the folded garment through the crack in the door. It landed on the floor of the closet with a soft thwompf; Zuko stared and squirmed away from it as if it were a bomb ready to explode. Eventually, though – when he had deduced it wasn't going to come alive and devour him in one powdery gulp – the young prince picked the garment up.   
Hm.   
It was soft all over, not quite crinkly like he'd thought, made out of some sort of soft fabric. There was a faint pink stripe across the front, with tiny sky bison and lemurs on it. He supposed that was the wetness indicator… although who would be stupid enough not to notice when it was wet?  
He unfolded the diaper; it came apart like some sort of failed origami project, with tabs and flaps and elasticated areas springing free seemingly out of nowhere. Bewildered, he held it up in front of his face. Was he really going to try this? He, big grown-up 'soon to be Fire Lord' Prince Zuko? His stuffie was great, and he really liked his pacifier, but somehow diapers felt like a step too far. Diapers felt like he was crossing some sort of line, some sort of line that he hadn't crossed over in at least thirteen years.   
Maybe you'll like it. Baby steps! said the voice in the back of his head. That was what Sokka had promised, right?  
Sighing, he squirmed his way out of his boxers, replacing them with the diaper instead; tucking it to his front before trying to work out how to tab it up at the sides. It was a slow process – tab up one side and the other side would ping free, or stick to itself, or would fall off and force him into starting the whole miserable process all over again. Suddenly he understood why babies and Littles got diaper changes laid flat on their backs, legs hoisted in the air – it was hard work to put a diaper on yourself!  
Eventually, he managed to hike it up into the correct spot, or so he thought, and grumbled to himself, exhausted.   
He cracked the door open, squinting in Sokka's direction. "…I did it." He hissed. He wasn't sure why. He sort of felt as if he wanted praise. 

"Oh!"  
Sokka whipped around to face him, beaming. "You did? Here, lemme make sure you got it on right."

Zuko went red. His hands went into fists and he shied away slightly. 

"…It's really hard to diaper yourself," Sokka changed tack. "I wanna see what a great job you did."

Zuko was still red, although this time hesitant. He shifted his clothes to reveal the diaper. He had put it on the right way around, but it hung saggy on his waist from where he had struggled to tape it up correctly and he hadn't quite tugged out the leg holes so it was hitched up too high against his thighs.

"Oh," Sokka bit back a giggle, "You did a really good job, it's just a bit loose."  
He ripped the tabs open and, methodically, taped them tight at the sides, before tugging out the leg holes. "…there, does that feel better?"

Zuko's face was still marbled pink and red… but he had to admit, it didn't feel as bad as he thought. He had envisioned himself sick with mortification, wanting to rip it off and say no, never again – but he didn't want to do that, not really. The material was soft and fabric-y like he was wearing boxers except with an extra layer or so. And something about Sokka speaking so softly to him, gentle praising, not teasing at all, made him feel good about the whole thing… as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place. He nodded, a little bashfully.   
"…Don't tell."

Sokka nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Never," he assured coolly. 

Zuko watched him and suddenly was reminded of the late hour, of how tired he was, of Sokka staying awake to talk to him, comfort him through it. "I'm sorry for waking you up," he mumbled, anxiously pressing his hands together. 

"S'okay," Sokka said despite yawning so widely it ate up his face. He'd tried so hard to bite it back but he really was tired. Not that it was Zuko’s fault – he hadn’t slept anyway, had caught him by chance. "I sorta want a bottle," he admitted. As easily as he'd managed to look after Zuko, it was waning now, and his Littlespace was beginning to whine and paw for his attention or at least for him to get some sleep. A bottle sounded gorgeous right about now, warm and vanilla and lulling him to Littlespace and sleep and calm. 

"Oh," said Zuko in a tiny voice, remembering that this was a two-way sort of deal, that he was responsible for looking after Sokka as much as Sokka was he; cocking his head, he hesitated. "…Do you want me to make it for you?" he asked plaintively. He had never made up a bottle before but 2am seemed like the perfect time to try if that was what Sokka wanted. Although a small part of him, a part he tried to bury deep and smother, really hoped Sokka said no. He didn't know what it was. Maybe Sokka had sprinkled something in those diapers because suddenly he felt as though he couldn't make up a bottle, couldn't even try, needed Sokka to do everything. 

Sokka smiled, "No, 'course not, Zuko." His voice was stitched together with sleepiness, he rubbed his eyes again. "…would you like me to make you a bottle, too? They're yummy."  
Well, there was a first time for everything, wasn't there…? Besides, he had his dragon cup from the theatre, and although he had asked for lemonade in it at least five times just yesterday alone, he’d had this habit of chewing at the straw - and had already chewed it into a funny squashed shape. At least a bottle was made for chewing; and he had a bottle all of his own ready and waiting.

Zuko hesitated. Baby steps, he reminded himself. Baby steps and never forget who you are. And for no other reason than it was late and he was tired and these diapers were weird magical things that made him not quite himself, he nodded, thumb slipping into his mouth. A bottle sounded good.   
~

Zuko leaned against Sokka, sleepily chewing on the nipple of his bottle as his eyelids grew heavier.   
Hm. Sokka was right… it was yummy. The milk was warm and sweet and made his belly feel heavy and sleepy like he wasn't falling asleep in a huge lonely bed but rather curled up against a cloud, with Sokka. That was what the ‘woooh’ felt like! Where it all went down in a gentle rush, _woooh!_ and then settled all warm in his tummy.  
He had drained the bottle of every last drop, suckling for comfort rather than out of hungriness. Next to him, Sokka was drinking still, his breathing slow and steady; it was oddly comforting to listen to, a reminder that Zuko wasn't alone in this weird new journey he'd found himself on, despite how new and scary he'd found it. 

Sokka snuggled in tight, gaze narrowed, watching Zuko chew at the bottle even though his eyes were stinging, excited if only to find out what Zuko thought. "…Yummy, right?" he mumbled around the teat of his own empty bottle, rubbing his eyes before stretching back all kittenlike into the blankets. Exhausted, he dropped his empty bottle onto the floor where it fell with a thunk. That was a problem for big Sokka.   
Tomorrow's big Sokka.

Zuko, nodding, copied; bottle falling to the floor on the opposite side. He rolled over, burying his face into his Duckie, and fumbling for his pacifier which had been clipped to his pyjamas. The second the teat was against his tongue he sank in sleepy, happy bliss. "So yummy…" he slurred. Or at least, that was what he'd hoped he'd said. He was so tired that even speaking around the bulb of his pacifier was an effort like he was trying to speak through a mouth full of peanut butter. 

“Night-night, Zuko,” mumbled Sokka, rolling over.   
~

...Mm.  
Even though he had drank his bottle, and he could feel it settled warm in his belly, and his eyes were all heavy and tired – he couldn’t sleep. His insides wriggled upsettedly and he tossed to one side and turned to the other long after Zuko had fallen asleep. He had tried everything – squeezing his eyes shut tight, counting koalasheep, singing himself the quietest and sleepiest of lullabies. Tonight, nothing seemed to work.   
…He was still thinking of his father, of the invasion. Those sorts of thoughts never seemed to leave his head since that failed day; not even the tightest of cuddles with Polar Bear or the creamiest, yummiest bottle of milk helped any. Sitting up, dizzied, Sokka waited for the room to come to a sluggish stop before squinting down at the bear he held tightly in his arms, huffing.   
Then he drew his gaze to Zuko; the snuffling, peacefully sleeping Zuko with his face buried into his stuffed animal and his chest rising and falling steadily beneath the blankets. Rubbing his eyes, Sokka hugged Polar Bear tight and slunk from the warmth of his duvet. His bare toes recoiled at the cold smooth floor beneath him but it was a slow reaction, like his entire body was rebooting itself first. “I guess, I guess we can go clean up, or somethin’,” Sokka mumbled to nobody except his Polar Bear – even if he knew he’d not get a reaction. Zuko’s duvet and sheets were still wet, after all, and they’d get all gross if they weren’t cleaned. “C’mon, leggo,” he hummed, squeezing the arm of his stuffed animal. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling Little or not – he was balancing on that too-high tightrope of both, he thought – but padded in the twilight to the washroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got nothing to say about this one! I think it could've done with some expansion on Zuko & the wetting side of things, I'm going to write up some chapters once I've finished uploading everything I have thus far. A bit of a weird way to go about it? Probably, but I'm finding it really helpful. So keep an eye out. :)


	14. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaking off on the hunt for his father, Sokka (and then Zuko) get themselves imprisoned. A storm brings back some painful memories for Sokka and forces Zuko to take on a new role, albeit briefly.   
> (He doesn't mind.)

Rolling over onto his back for what felt like the millionth time that night, Sokka huffed. He rubbed his tummy and sat up, blinking into the darkness. His tummy was wobbly. Not the hungry kind, or the sicky kind, or the pottying kind – just the wobbly kind that he had become very used to. He couldn’t sleep knowing his father was hurt, knowing that his father was hurt and it was his fault. What would he think of him now? Would he hate him? Plus, during the invasion it-- it hadn’t been nearly enough time to talk to him - to really talk to him or tell him about his classification. Even if deep down Dad knew already, he had been so excited to tell him and to know how proud he was, and yet the chance had been stolen from him once again.   
He _had_ to find him, had to prove himself and make sure everything was okay. Maybe he could go…? Appa was close by. Other than that, though – he had to go alone. Nobody would ever know he had gone. Maybe he could go by himself and be back by (uhhh, when? Maybe tomorrow? Yeah, that sounded right!) tomorrow evening no problem.  
Hesitant, Sokka staggered to his feet. The night was cold and the wind whipped around his legs. He shifted in his diaper, an uncomfortable reminder that perhaps he wasn’t grown up enough to be considering such things, but he stumbled with all the determination of a three-year-old in the direction of his sky bison. The fuzziness in his stomach swelled and fell away again the closer he got. Maybe this was the right decision after all.   
“…Ssssh!” he hissed rudely when Appa gave him the side-eye - almost as if he was chastising Sokka for being awake at such a late hour (or perhaps a little grumpy at being awoken?)  
The last thing he needed was someone finding him and sending him back to bed. He couldn’t let himself miss out on seeing Dad yet again – and besides, he couldn’t sleep. What else was there to do?  
Sokka gripped Appa’s fur despite the bison’s unhappiness and hoisted himself up onto the bison’s back. Or tried to. Just as he was about to settle himself he caught sight of Zuko, arms folded, glare stern – that sort of glare that made his belly turn to jelly – stretched out almost as if he was expecting him. How did he know?! “Zuko!” he squeaked, stumbling and near enough falling off of the bison. 

“Not up to anything?” Zuko squinted. He leaned forward, grunting and tugging Sokka back up onto the bison’s back. “Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?” His voice dripped with sarcasm even though his heart was thudding. “Tour around the island?”

Sokka looked down, folding his arms. “Yes!” he said defensively; his insides squirming. He scratched his neck compulsively. 

He was a bad liar.

“And the truth?” Zuko threw in a raised eyebrow. 

Sokka sighed. “I just- I need to see my Dad. It’s all my fault. I need to make it up to him for failing the invasion.” He fidgeted, playing with his fingers nervously. 

“…On Appa? Feeling Little? Alone! Sokka, are you crazy?! We—we—we don’t even have time for that!” 

Sokka whimpered. His lip was all pouty.

Zuko rubbed his temples. It was too late for this. He had woken in a panic to find Sokka gone, and what would have been a blissful float-away sort of night was instead an uncomfortably panicked one. “You can’t do this alone. I’m coming with you.”

Sokka was about to ask how Zuko knew he was feeling Little, but then realised the contents of his bag had fallen when he did; Polar Bear, diapers, pacifier, bottles. He blushed. 

“…Let’s take the balloon instead. Come on.” Zuko insisted. Sokka sighed and gathered his things, following obediently after him.  
~

“Is that him?”

“…no!”

“Ooh! Him, there?!” Zuko leaned so far over the railings his belly hurt, watching the newest prisoners move in stiff lines to their designated cells. 

“No! Zuko, he doesn’t have tattoos!” Sokka scoffed. 

Zuko scoffed in return, shaking his head. “I don’t know what your dad looks like!” he pointed out. Sokka didn’t answer him, looking over the railings again; his glum face lighting up suddenly as he caught sight of a face in the crowd. “What?!” Zuko gasped. “Is it him? Is it your dad?!”

Sokka pushed past Zuko, bouncing excitedly. “Suki!” he squeaked. 

Zuko was trailing after Sokka… but stopped. Oh. A _girl_?! 

“Suki!” Zuko watched Sokka rush to the common area below (shouting something about ‘knowing this girl already!’, where Suki was sat at a table with a tray of cafeteria food. He near enough bowled her over she was that shocked; Zuko bit back a smile as she fumbled to pick up the knife and fork she’d dropped. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was frowning.   
~

“Sokka! What are you doing here?!”

“Looking for my Dad,” whispered Sokka, all bright and bouncy and optimistic. He rocked on the balls of his feet, sinking onto the stool opposite, “…you haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Sorry, Sokka,” Suki’s voice was gentle.

“What are you doing here?”

Suki stared at him.

Oh. Yeah. That was his fault. Sokka ‘heh heh’d unsurely; Suki didn’t give him a response. She unwrapped her hamburger from the crinkly paper wrapping. There was a cartoon on the paper; slowly and methodically (perhaps so she didn’t have to answer?) she pressed out all the creases to see a dragon smiling back at them. “Huh,” she nodded. “That explains the crayons.”

“…crayons?” Sokka looked with interest at the picture, although he tried not to. He liked colouring!

“They gave me crayons with lunch. Maybe they think it’ll keep us all out of trouble?” Suki laughed, showing Sokka the matchstick box of crayons she had been given. Even if Sokka tried to look uninterested, he couldn’t stop the stars from lighting in his eyes; Suki grinned. “Here. I think you’d appreciate them more.”

“Yeah!” Sokka grinned. He dived in on the crinkled wrapping, coating the dragon in waxy red scribbles. Maybe he could show Dad, when it was finished.

Zuko grumbled, turning away. He’d seen enough. Hmpf.  
~

…Sokka kicked at a pebble on the floor dejectedly.   
It had been forever and ever and ever. His father hadn’t shown up just yet and they—he—had given up their only chance at escaping on the slim chance he did.   
To rub salt in the wound Zuko had managed to get himself imprisoned, so their time together was even more limited. Suki was kept away from him too. He had made it work somehow by ducking into Zuko’s cell every change he got and spitting out silly excuses any time he got caught – but it was exhausting, mentally as well as physically.   
As night drew in Sokka hugged himself tightly in an attempt to self soothe. He was sat on the bed in Zuko’s cell - but nightfall meant they had to be separated again. He wasn’t ready to go yet.   
Not that Zuko wanted him to go, either; rooting through his messenger bag, he found Sokka’s pacifier and offered it to the boy. Sokka took it, with deep stressed-out thck-thck-thck sort of suckles, leaning against him. “I don’t wanna leave,” he whined between sucks. “being a guard is boring.”

Zuko giggled. “…and being a prisoner isn’t?” He lay down next to Sokka with a tired hum. “I don’t want you to go either.”

Sokka snuggled against Zuko for a long moment, before sighing and sitting up. “Gotta. Night shift.” Pfffttt. Being a grown-up was even worse. Not that Zuko needed telling.  
He rubbed his eyes, spitting out his pacifier, “I’ll see you in the morn—” 

The window in Zuko’s cell rattled violently, pausing Sokka midsentence. Alongside it came a low moan of thunder and a flash of blue-white light that filled the tiny postage-stamp they sat in. Sokka froze, body stiff and tight, pupils the size of pinpricks. “Wh- what was that?” He knew what it was, his heart thudding in his chest, but please no. Please, let it be—a dream, a nightmare, his—his imagination? Not a storm, anything but a-- 

Zuko squinted at him, “I think it’s a—”

More thunder, louder now, lightning that sounded like the cracking of a whip, thudding rain against the window like someone was slapping it. Not a storm. Anything but a storm. Sokka started to tremble, the full-body kind. His throat tightened – every tiny crackle, rustle or spit made him jump and whimper. Was that the lashing sound of rain – or was it the choked falling sound of soot and coal? Was that wind - or was it screaming?  
His chin wobbled, his lungs burned, as he frantically shook his head. “D- don’t like thunderstorms. No storm.” He pleaded to no one, rocking ever so slightly in place to soothe himself, clammy palms plastered over his ears. “No storm, no storm, no storm!”   
As if the weather would listen to him – as if Zuko could do anything to help.

Zuko bit his lip. He had never seen Sokka like this before – didn’t imagine he’d be scared of thunderstorms, either. Reaching over, he squeezed his shoulder, noticing Sokka’s voice was changing to that more familiar softly-spoken one. “You’re okay, buddy,” he whispered. He lay down on his bed, tugging Sokka gently with him. “Just—um, lie here until the—the storm passes.” He urged. Sokka laid with him but it didn’t comfort him as much as Zuko had hoped; he was breathing all funny, hitched and hyperventilated, and his hands were sweaty and raking stressed lines across his scalp. “Don’t-” gulp sniffle “Don’t like thu-under-storms…” His face was hot and wet with tears that ran in fat lines and dripped against the pillow. The tiny bed shook Sokka was weeping that much. Thunderstorms reminded him of fire nation raids, when the sky got dark and sooty and they all had to run for cover, hide and hope nobody found you. 

“It’ll pass soon…” Zuko crooned, feeling more than a little helpless.

Sokka whimpered, rubbing his eyes. “The— the fire nation…” he whimpered. “They’re gonna… they’re gonna take Mom, they’re gonna—Katara, Dad, me—we’re all—!” He hiccupped, breathing in-out quick. 

Great. Way to pile on the guilt. Although considering they were sat squarely inside some Fire Nation property, Zuko guessed there wasn’t much chance of getting hit by a Fire Nation raid. He must’ve been having some sort of... flashback? Nightmare? He looked as though he could see it playing out in front of him, his eyes kinda glassy. It was scary. “You’re safe, Sokka, you’re…” Zuko stammered, tugging him close, although his own tummy was beginning to churn. Sokka wasn’t listening - couldn’t listen? – so how was he supposed to comfort him?! What was he supposed to do?! Ugh. Suki could comfort Sokka better, he bet. Hmpf. No! It was his turn! That was what Sokka said, right? He and Sokka had to look after one another. Take it in turns. Now that it was here, Zuko felt quite a bit different about the whole thing.  
“…Um—um—” Zuko ran his hands, agitated, through his hair. He wasn’t made to be a caregiver, and the obvious choice wasn’t exactly dangling in front of his face – least of all when Sokka was freaking out in front of him and the rain was lashing hard against their single tiny window and the Little part of his brain told him Sokka was right to be scared because he was kinda scared too.   
The sight almost made him want to burst into tears too but he couldn’t, it was his turn to be big now. He looked around the room quickly, desperate for some sort of flash of inspiration. What… what would Uncle do? When he was feeling Little, what helped…?  
He squeezed his eyes shut, tapped his temples, thought hard. Uncle… he would, uhhh… Oh! Yes! When Zuko had first gotten his classification, Uncle suggested he have warm milk, or- or milk and honey, or perhaps even warm tea, in a little plastic cup with a spout. Zuko had refused, because he was never going to be Little ever, even when Iroh had insisted it was very relaxing regardless of classification. And- and Sokka loved milk. Frantic, his gaze fell to the plastic bottles poking out of Sokka’s bag. Maybe—maybe he could sneak to the canteen? Yeah, they’d have milk in the canteen, right…?  
Grabbing one of the bottles and the polar bear laying nearby, Zuko tucked the stuffed animal between Sokka’s trembling arms; Sokka squeezed the bear like he was a welcome lifeline and it made Zuko wince in sympathy to see. “Stay here,” he whispered. Not that he thought Sokka would go anywhere when he was feeling so small. “Cuddle up to polar bear and stay here. I’m gonna—I’m gonna sneak out and get you a bottle of milk. That’ll make you feel better, right?”

Sokka whimpered, muffled by his polar bear, but didn’t disagree. Zuko nodded heavily, slipping his helmet down over his face. He made his way to the door but – hearing Sokka sniffle and whimper and bite back all his little babyish noises – paused and bit his lip. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Hell, this was why he wasn’t a caregiver – he couldn’t make all these big decisions. It was still storming outside so heavily, and Sokka was so upset, that leaving him behind felt mean. Still, what else was he supposed to do, let Sokka cry himself into hysterics…?  
He looked around again. Duckie was laying on top of his belongings. Grabbing him, he tossed him in the direction of Sokka’s bed too; more than a little bit relieved to see Sokka tuck him tight into his grip. “Duckie likes cuddles. So cuddle him lots and I’ll be back soon. Okay?” Zuko whispered. Sokka managed a nod. 

The prison was quiet. Zuko didn’t know whether he should’ve been comforted by this or even more wary than usual. He tiptoed down the halls in the direction of the canteen, a journey he had taken so many times he was sure he could walk it backwards with his eyes closed, Sokka’s bottle concealed between the layers of his shirt, the cold plastic banging against his skin with every step he made. Please, no one find me. The last thing he needed right now was a fellow guard jumping out at him, asking what he was doing – or worse – finding the bottle. Mercifully, the halls were quiet the whole way there. 

When he got to the prison canteen he had never been happier to see it unmanned and only dimly lit. The buffet stations were empty and had been shut off from inmates and staff. The drink fridges were still open, though. The ‘tea-making’ station was open too although Zuko was sure Uncle would have something to say about its poor offerings: the microwave, a kettle, one glass bottle of milk, a bowl full of sugar cubes, and two sachets of spiced tea leaves.  
Taking a deep breath, Zuko went toward the counter.   
And stopped.   
What now..? Zuko didn’t make tea, or milk, or anything like that. He’d never watched Uncle do it, anyway, and although he was competent enough to work it out usually, his mind was a little bit floaty. Well, it couldn’t be that difficult…? He unpopped the lid of the bottle, pouring milk right up to the top.

“Not like that,” a little laugh, a gently soft, directing voice. Zuko jumped near enough out of his skin, heart juddering, and ended up splashing milk over the counter. Another giggle.   
Oh, hold on, it was—  
it was…   
_Suki_.   
Oh, great. He wanted so badly to say _no, go away, I know how to prepare a bottle_ – but he didn’t.   
“…Sorry, honey. Here, you had the milk too high so it would’ve exploded. Pour it to, hmm, abou-u-ut… there!” She leaned over him, pointing to the small blue line some way away from the teat - something which he hadn’t noticed before in his rush to finish preparing the bottle. “Then boil up your water and pour it in - slowly,” she directed him and, flushing pink, he did as he was told. Even if he was supposed to be the big one here. 

Sokka was all gushy for Suki. Zuko couldn’t see why, and man was it annoying to listen to him gabble on about her, but she was a sweet caregiver, he supposed. He was sure Sokka liked her, and supposed he saw why. Gross. It wasn’t fair. Zuko had to be even—even betterer than her. “Thanks,” he muttered, “But I think I got it.” 

“Late night snack?”

Zuko filled the kettle and set it to boil, staring at the water bubbling inside as it heated up. “Something like that.” He wondered if she somehow magically knew it was for Sokka, or whether she thought it was his. Still, she took the hint. The kettle pinged and so with his tongue poking out in concentration Zuko poured the water into the bottle, screwed the lid on, and quickly left.   
~

“I’m—I’m back!” Zuko announced in a whisper, rolling the bottle between his palms to cool it as he entered Sokka’s cell.   
Sokka looked as though he hadn’t moved, quivering beneath his blanket with Duckie and Polar Bear still gripped tight to his chest. “I got you a bottle of milk. Yummy, right?” He was sure this was going to make Sokka feel better. Or at least he hoped so because otherwise, he was stuck. He plopped down onto the end of Sokka’s bed, nudging him, holding out the bottle. “Here. You can feed yourself, if- if you want!”

Sokka peeled the blanket away from his face, watery eyes meeting Zuko’s. He shook his head fearfully in between reaching for Zuko, those universally-known grabby hands, and for the first time Zuko saw just how badly affected he was by the storm; his hands shuddering rapidly. He couldn’t feed himself like that. He’d make a mess of himself. Zuko’s face softened in sympathy as Sokka reached out toward him and pulled him into a gentle embrace. “Okay,” Zuko whispered soothingly, his hands pressed tight around the shaking little boy, “…you’re okay. I can feed you.”   
Sokka nodded, all clingy and needy, pressing against Zuko tightly as if he was the stuffie Sokka loved so much. His eyes were owlish and wide and he didn’t use his words, just made a few squeaky noises. Zuko wondered if maybe he was feeling a bit too small to use his words. He looked at the boy and bit back a sigh. Sokka was heavy in his lap, heavy and trembling and wet - he definitely needed a change after he was fed! - and this was new for Zuko, and sort of scary, but there wasn’t anything he would’ve changed about it. He got the bottle – pleasantly warm now, not hot – and pressed the teat invitingly against Sokka’s lips. 

Sokka suckled instinctively, rewarded with a thick stream of milk that was warm and vanillary. He mumbled to himself, sipping and drinking quietly, and it was as though he had gone into his own dream world. The slashing rain fell away whereas before it had been pounding in his ears. There was no storm, there was no Fire Nation raid, it was just him and his milk bottle and Zuko who tucked him in close and kept him safe, looking down and crooning encouragement at him.   
He gulped and he gulped, his free hand kneading for the fabric of Zuko’s shirt, and he clung on tight. He could stay like this, tight and warm and safe, forever. 

“…You’re really thirsty, huh?” Zuko giggled softly, watching with near-awe as the level in the milk bottle dipped rapidly; his free hand rubbing Sokka’s back. It was funny to see it from this perspective. He thought about what was the right, ‘Caregiving’ sort of thing to say. “You gotta slow down a little though!” he decided, “…you’re gonna get hiccups!”

Sokka mumbled unhappily. With each suckle, he felt the warmth in his belly and it was dragging him closer and closer into sleep; his eyelids heavy and dropping. Why would he want to stop and pull himself away? He gave Zuko a slanted glare, pointedly chewing on the teat a little more. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Zuko shrugged, smiling all the same, pressed back against the wall and feeding Sokka in the quiet.   
It was still storming pretty heavily out, the wind biting through tree branches, but now Zuko was with Sokka the storm seemed much less fierce and Zuko wasn’t intimidated by it in the slightest. He’d realised, too, that he enjoyed feeding Sokka his bottle; watching his face as he drank because at first Sokka looked at Zuko as though he was the prettiest boy he had ever seen (take _that_ , Suki) – and then his gaze changed, got all starry-eyed and sleepy and then he clung onto Zuko like he didn’t want to let go at all.  
Eventually, though, Sokka had emptied the bottle and was suckling in air. Zuko giggled down at him, gently wriggling the teat from his mouth. “All gone,” he cooed sympathetically, rubbing Sokka’s back. 

“Mm’ t’rrrd…” Sokka mumbled, stretching out all kitten-like in Zuko’s lap. His hands were in fists and he rubbed at his eyes. There was a curl of grumpiness in his voice as if it was Zuko’s fault for keeping him awake or something. 

“I know,” said Zuko softly. “And, um, I’ve gotta get this wet diaper off of you. It can’t feel good. But then you can sleep. Okay?” He looked down at Sokka and giggled. “Wow. Nice milk moustache.”

Sokka bit back a sleepy smile, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand in messy uncoordinated waves. Zuko shifted out from underneath him, moving to the foot of the bed to change his wet diaper; he whined at the loss of warmth but let the boy do as he pleased, shifting his legs and curling close to Polar Bear instead, breathing out sleepily. 

It was quiet.   
Sokka’s breaths were sleepy and even.   
Rain pittered against the window. 

And then…

…Sokka hiccupped. 

“Aha!” Zuko looked up, pretending to jump. “I told you so!”

Sokka squealed out a giggle, covering his mouth to stop hiccups from falling free – but still the little squeaked ‘hic’s came loose.   
“Uh oh..” he smiled lazily, chewing on his fingers. His eyelids were getting heavy again; he watched through a lidded gaze as Zuko changed him - and this time fell into a peaceful sort of sleep, knowing – raid or not - Zuko would keep him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh, a role reversal. I'm not sure how well this one is going to be received based on that, tbh. This was another chapter that was inspired by my friend's artwork and the little AU we created while talking with one another. :)   
> I wish I could show you their artwork. It's so precious!
> 
> ...I kinda messed up the timing on this one - I moved the gang to Ember Island a bit too soon. But oh well!
> 
> Also, Suki finally shows up! I did her a bit of a disservice. But in my defence the AU was a zukka! 
> 
> We're nearing the end, guys! I'm oddly excited. That doesn't mean there isn't more to come, though. ;)


	15. The Most Important Meal Of The Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Zuko pulled a chunk of bread free from the loaf. “Breakfast!” he announced._
> 
> It's a surprisingly dreamy early morning, the penultimate before Sozin's Comet arrives, with only Zuko and Sokka awake. Zuko wants breakfast. So does his stuffed animal.

Squirming slightly, Zuko opened his eyes. It was light out now, thin bars of sunshine creeping in through the windows. With the day of the comet approaching (as some sort of last hurrah, maybe?) the friends had decided to camp out in the living room of the beach house, some sort of last ditch attempt to suck every drop of joy out of their day before… well, before Ozai stamped on it.   
After all, it wasn’t like they’d done enough of that already, said Sokka, rolling his eyes. But when Katara said that it was fine and he didn’t have to help them make a pillow fort if he didn’t want to, he quickly reconsidered – and they were all piled together like puppies on the floor, surrounded by crumpled duvets and pillows.  
Zuko squirmed again and rolled over, talking softly and babyishly to himself about nothing in particular, like a baby finding his voice for the first time--  
(‘Hello, Mr Duckie!’ he beamed. ‘It’s morning time. Are you hungry? I’m hungry!’  
 _Yes young sir,_ said Mr Duckie, _I am starved_.)  
\--And even though Zuko was truly a very grown-up sixteen years of age, he thought that was exactly what it was. After all - here he was, coming to terms with this new small side of himself that had been hidden away for so long. In front of everybody, too. Sort of, anyway. Aang was snuffling to himself with his face buried into a pillow, Katara was flat on her stomach, Toph was flat on her back muttering to herself.   
And there was Sokka; Sokka was at the side of him, like he always was, snoring quietly. Everybody was asleep and that meant that Zuko could be as little as he needed to be. Sure, it wasn’t as fun as it was when everybody was awake and paying attention to him - but he was still a little reclusive, so he appreciated it all the same. Zuko fumbled for his pacifier, found it clipped to his shirt, lay still and watched Sokka for a moment with his paci tight in his mouth.  
Sokka’s chest rose and fell and rose and fell, like a little mountain. The firebender took Sokka’s hand, studying his looooong, lanky fingers, squeezing them, counting slowly one-two-three-four-five (in case one had accidentally gone missing and no one had noticed, of course)... and then hesitantly tried to put Sokka’s arm around him. When they had fallen asleep last night they had fallen asleep entwined in one another’s arms. Sokka gave really good cuddles - tight and secure, the never-let-you-go kind! - but at some point the two had rolled away from one another again.   
Unfortunately, Sokka’s arms were big and heavy and tired and Zuko couldn’t move them as well as he thought.

Sokka moaned sleepily at the movement, blinking open one pretty blue eye. Zuko gasped; dropping his grip, rolling shyly into Sokka’s chest. 

“Mornin’..” Sokka grumbled sleepily, smiling, curling close to his little firebender. 

Zuko dared to glance at him, hopeful. But Sokka had closed his eyes and his breaths were evening out like he was getting sleepy again. Zuko whined in discomfort. He was fed up of entertaining himself and also kinda wanted breakfast. He spat out his pacifier; it swung against his chest. “Sokka, it’s— it’s wakey-wakey time,” he mumbled, brow furrowed, tapping Sokka’s cheek in clumsy, uncoordinated pats. His voice was tiny and lilting and hopeful, even if the pawing ‘big boy’ side of his brain reminded him that Sokka could sleep like the dead... and maybe if he didn’t call it something as babyish as _wakey-wakey time_ then Sokka would pay a bit more attention to him. But then again, Sokka was the person who played with him or helped feed him his bottles when he wanted them...  
“It’s wakey wakey time!” He patted, a little more insistent.

Sokka cracked his eyes open again, slowly, grumbling and stretching. “...alright, alright...” he murmured, his voice freckled with sleepiness, “it’s wakey-wakey time.”   
He sat up carefully, smiling and making grabby hands; Zuko beamed and barrelled into him. Having to wake up so early was easily the toughest bit of being a caregiver, especially when Sokka was Little enough to need looking after too - but he really liked the moments they had when it was just the two of them and Zuko was the smallest of all. “Did you sleep well?”  
Zuko nodded into his chest.   
“...d’you want a baba? For breakfast?” Sokka continued. He was whispering now.   
A nod; quite a hopeful one.   
It wasn’t that Zuko thought the others would care any, rather that he enjoyed the little pocket of quiet where it was just the two of them just as much as Sokka did.

“…d’you need a change?” this was said in a soft, whispery little voice. Zuko blushed. He shook his head. He wasn’t crossing that bridge.  
~

“Zuko, come here for your bottle!”

Sokka’s voice was floating in from the kitchenette. Zuko was playing with his duckling, flapping its mustardy little wings up and down. Now and then the wings would capture a tiny wisp of air and flutter idly; Zuko would rock forward, eyes widening, hopeful... but Duckie would fall and he would fall over and over again!  
“...One day I’ll learn you to really fly,” Zuko whispered, conspiratorially, to the stuffed animal. He was sure it could fly. The really real turtle-ducks did, after all. He had watched them fly - every winter, with Mama - in funny little triangles as they made their trip from the Fire Nation back to the Earth Kingdom. He was sure Mr Duckie was no different.   
But Sokka called him and he ‘okay’ed, plans of flying forgotten, plopping Duckie down.   
Duckie fell over. He squeaked.  
~

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Zuko chewed the nipple of his bottle quietly. He was leaned against Sokka, not quite in his lap. Duckie was sat with him too. He cocked his head, looked at the duck, and swallowed a mouthful of milk.   
He had breakfast.   
(He glanced up.)  
Sokka had breakfast.   
Duckie didn’t have any breakfast. He said he was hungry, too.   
…Hm. Well, mama always told him that the turtleducks liked seeds and bread. They spent hours, after all, sat on the grass at the duckpool near home, flinging little pieces of bread and seeds for the ducks to eat and watching their feathery bottoms bobbing in the water (Zuko always thought it very funny!) - until Azula came along and hoisted whole hunks of bread into the water, that was. Then all of the ducks swam away. They probably thought they were under attack from some sort of meteorite. Poor ducks.   
Well... there was no meteorite here, and there was definitely no Azula... but there was bread. Katara had gotten some yesterday when they were out. It was supposed to be for breakfast, with jam, she said. But Zuko had milk instead, and Sokka did too, so— so he supposed it didn’t really matter, and besides, Duckie was hungry too, and what was he meant to do - starve?  
Shrugging, Zuko put down his bottle and picked up his duckling again, waddling toward the kitchen. Sokka had left all the breakfast things out for everybody on the counter, fresh from shopping. There, in a big brown paper bag, was the bread. Jumping up, Zuko yanked the bag free and held it tight in one little fist; the neck of his duckling squeezed tight in the other. He waddled back to the living room where everybody was curled up, snoring, and plopped down onto his cushioned bottom. Finally he took a furtive glance at Sokka. Sokka didn’t seem to realise he had gone _or_ that he had returned. He was leaned against the couch but not sat on it, eyes lidded to the point of near-closing, lapping thirstily at his bottle.   
…Good. He had some sort of cover.  
Zuko pulled a chunk of bread free from the loaf and lifted it to his turtleduck’s beak. “Breakfast!” he announced.

...Duckie didn’t eat any.   
Hm. Maybe he wanted the crunchy seedy bits instead...? Some duckies liked the crunchy seedy bits, right…? Zuko tore off another hunk of bread and offered it, hopefully, to his stuffed friend. “Breakfast!” he reiterated, leaning forward in determination.  
...But still, he didn’t eat any.   
Zuko frowned. “You gotta eat breakfast!” He told his stuffie, squeezing him tight as if to reiterate the point. “How're you gonna get all... big and strong?” He scratched his head, pulling off piece after piece. Soon, the blanket they were sat on was littered with itchy crumbs, and Duckie hadn’t eaten _any_ of them. Sinking unhappily, Zuko whined.

“Calm down, baby steps,” moaned Toph, rolling over and sitting up. “I think they can hear you over in the Northern Water Tribe...”   
She shifted. Jeez, the ground was... prickly. What was up with that? 

Zuko paid no attention to her, frowning. “Sokka, Duckie didn’t eat any breakfast.” He mumbled. 

Sokka rubbed his eyes, putting down his cup. Heh. _Zuko had a really overactive imagina..._

 _..tion._ Oh. Oh no.  
Zuko’s blanket, Zuko’s lap, and Zuko’s stuffed animal - were littered with crumbs. So were the pillows.   
This morning’s bread had been hacked at, and only a few handfuls were left. If Sokka didn’t know any better he probably would have accused Zuko’s duckling of getting at it... although the real culprit was pretty obvious. Boy was he glad Toph couldn’t see this.  
“But—“ he stammered, rubbing his temples. What was he supposed to say to that? _‘Stuffed animals can’t really eat food, silly!’_ \- and then ruin his fun and have him shut down on them all over again? He bit his lip, kneeling to Zuko’s level, and whispering as though he had a big secret. “Well, my polar bear, is- is really shy. He doesn’t like to eat if you’re watching him. So maybe if you close your eyes really tight, your duckie will eat his breakfast too?”

Zuko hesitated. He looked from Sokka to his duckling and nodded, closing his eyes tightly.  
Smiling, Sokka gulped down what was left of the bread, and as many salvageable crumbs as he could find.   
“...okay, you can open your eyes now.” He smiled, brushing the crumbs from his tummy and quickly around his mouth. 

Zuko opened his eyes. All the bread was gone! He gasped, grabbing his duckling, and at the same time scrambling to Sokka. “Sokka he eated it!” His voice was soft and awe-filled. “It’s all gone!”

Sokka chuckled, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “He did eat it, bub!”

Zuko hummed, squeezing his stuffie delightedly, tucking him under his chin. “Good job, Mr Duckie” He praised in a whisper, grinning impishly.

“If you ate our breakfast...” Toph grumbled, through gritted teeth. Sokka shushed her. The less Zuko knew, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much fluff and mush!!!!!!!! This was the first chapter I wrote, my friend inspired me to write this one when we were talking about it, so you can thank him 'cause he has all the cute ideas! <3


	16. Coaxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"…you're all squirmy," said Sokka, tutting, as next to him Zuko squirmed and nudged him so hard he scribbled a line across Zuko's chest. Luckily he could colour over it. "…d'you gotta get up?"_
> 
> Sokka encourages Zuko to use his diaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains wetting/desperation to pee, so if you don't like that perhaps skip this chapter. ^^; although I personally find it really cute.

Uncle's tea shop in Ba Sing Se was thriving now that the Avatar had defeated Fire Lord Ozai. Helped, no doubt, by the fact that the newly appointed Fire Lord Zuko made the immediate promise to restore peace across the nations the second he'd ascended the throne and helped in the restorative efforts. It was early days yet, but things were looking promising. Ba Sing Se was liberated and there was this rippled undercurrent of ease in the city nowadays, as though Zuko's promise blanketed the city and protected it from harm.  
But Zuko's promise was made with the knowledge that ultimately he was still a child – a classified Little one at that – so until he reached the grown age of eighteen it was decided that he would have to share such responsibilities with his royal advisors and sometimes his uncle.  
…Which was why the big bad Fire Lord Zuko was laid on the floor of the tea shop with one hand clutched to his bottle and the other tugging on the curve of his ear as though it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"Aw, you can't be comfy all the way down there, Zuko!" Sokka giggled, offering his hand to lift Zuko to his feet. 

Zuko mumbled, biting harder on the teat of his bottle. Despite what Sokka thought, he quite liked laying down here on the floor. Watching everybody wander around him, taller and noisier and _bigger_ made him feel very small. All the interesting noises in the teashop - the clinking, the hissing, the tinkling – melted away and it was just him and his bottle of (weak and milky) jasmine tea.   
Sometimes some of the customers would crane their necks down to see him, jab their fingers in his face, wave, and from his shrunken vantage point he felt small enough to be scooped up into their hands but not once did Zuko engage with any of them; simply lay there in the way of everybody, listening out for the clomp-clomp or click-click of shoed feet trying to avoid him so he could move away.   
Sometimes, if he was a very lucky Little one, someone would try to _encourage_ him away, waving a glimmering sugar stick in the shape of a sea dragon or offering a sugar-dusted mochi ball as though he were nothing but a tiny mouse. Mr Miyake (the wrinkled square man) made tiny paper cranes or lotus flowers. Zuko would watch him from the floor until the rapid flexing of his fingers slowed, before rising to his feet with interest. Whatever Mr Miyake created, Zuko was allowed to keep. It was always presented to him alongside a fat golden coin.  
So Zuko shied away from Sokka's out-splayed hands. He didn’t have anything interesting to entice him.

But Sokka was having none of it. "Come on, someone is going to fall over you!" he tutted, hoisting the boy up into his arms and shifting him to settle against his hips. Zuko held his bottle tightly and relaxed; Sokka smiled, running his fingers through Zuko's duckling tufts of hair. "Oh, you finished your bottle already. You want some more?"

Zuko nodded cheerfully. Sokka carried him over to his uncle.   
~

"What're you doing?" Zuko asked curiously, settling into a chair with a freshly made bottle of tea; oolong this time. He knew what Sokka was doing really, he just wanted to join in!

Sokka was stretched out across the table; papers were strewn out in front of him, his tongue was poked out in concentration as he dipped a paintbrush into some blue paint. "Uncle Iroh showed me this paintbox!" he grinned but didn't look up at him. "…he said I could use it so I decided to draw a picture."

“He’s not your uncle, he’s my uncle,” said Zuko, squinting sideways at Sokka, as if just by saying the word he had severed their familial ties and forged new ones.

“…I know,” Sokka shrugged. But he still called Uncle Iroh ‘Uncle Iroh’, anyway. The man himself had insisted he use the term and Sokka didn’t see any reason as to why he couldn’t use it. 

Zuko fell quiet. He peered over in interest at the table. "What're you drawing?" he asked. It didn't look like much, just a shapeless blob of blue. 

"…I haven't decided yet," Sokka bit the end of his paintbrush thoughtfully. He frowned at the blob after a moment of thought and, grabbing the sheet of paper, crumpled it up so he could start over.

"…Draw a picture of me instead!" Zuko asked, bouncing slightly in his chair, his eyes all starry and excited. 

"Oh, good idea!" Sokka grinned. "But stay still, ok?"

As it turned out, staying still was harder than Zuko thought, especially when you had just drunk not one but two bottles of tea, and Sokka was taking his own sweet time to draw his picture. Whining in anticipation, Zuko leaned forward. "Is it done yet?"

"It hasn't even been five minutes!"  
Sokka's tongue was stuck out between his teeth in concentration. 

"Oh," said Zuko. And he leaned back, his arms folded. Then forward, then back, then forward again. 

"Sit still!" Sokka whined, "I'm gonna mess up your hair!"

"M'trying!" Zuko whined in return, and he was! He was trying as hard as he could try, his hands flat under his diapered bottom, his legs twisted together at the ankles. He bit his lip and he watched as Sokka dipped his paintbrush in the pot and made big sweeping strokes and then paused and squinted at Zuko (really squinted at him, right in his face, like he was searching every pore) and then went back to his picture… 

"Done!" said Sokka, twenty minutes of fidgeting and painting and 'trying-to-sit-still'ing later. 

He held up a very wobbly outline of what was supposedly Zuko; Zuko didn't think it looked much like him at all, but he'd never tell. Maybe all the wriggling made him look like that? "…Oh!" said Zuko, leaning forward in surprise (and then back again at the uncomfortable spike right down his middle to his boy-bits). "Oh, but it needs colouring in!" he said. He bounced on his bottom. The spike went away. 

Sokka nodded. "You help me colour it in," he smiled generously, "You're a better colourer-inner than I am."

"Is still a really good picture, though!" Zuko said earnestly, nibbling at his thumb. He squished up next to Sokka this time, picked up a paintbrush, and began to colour himself in. All red and orange and black, the biggest and fanciest regal robes, the pinkiest-reddest smile on his face. He took the utmost care to colour in _just_ to the line, satisfaction flaring his belly as the coloured lines stacked on top of one another. The more he coloured in, the more the flare in his tummy increased. He bit his lip, he scratched his legs, he tucked his feet tight at the ankles.

"…you're all squirmy," said Sokka, tutting, as next to him Zuko squirmed and nudged him so hard he scribbled a thick red line across painting-Zuko's chest. Luckily he could colour over it. "…d'you gotta get up?"

"…no," Zuko lied, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He stilled, putting down his paintbrush, making an effort to sit still. 

"…yes you are!" said Sokka, his gaze narrowed suspiciously. He was speaking funnily; that ‘matter of fact’ voice, but not a grown-up one – more of a big kid know it all kinda voice. He shrugged, colouring in Zuko's cheeks so that they were nice and pink. "Just…" he shrugged, "Just use your diaper, that's what it's there for!" he giggled. No big deal!

Zuko stopped, reddening even more. "W- what?" he squeaked like Sokka had been speaking to him in French. He squirmed in shame. "No way. I can't!"  
He shied away from the boy, shrinking in his chair, then rethinking it and jumping up. "No!"

"It doesn't matter!" Sokka shrugged. He didn't think so, anyway; he was used to it. He supposed Zuko was finished with his colouring in now; he stood up, tucking in his chair, folding his arms. In an even softer voice, he added, "…even if you need a change, um, I can do it."

"Please… please don't make me!" Zuko whispered, fidgeting foot to foot, his eyes wide but tiny at the same time. The diaper he was wearing crinkled noisily with even the slightest shift of leg and it was enough to make him wince in shame and flood red, all up his neck. This – all of this – should have made him happy, shouldn't it? He was a— he was a Little now! Everything else seemed… seemed right somehow. Like when they had gotten him his new stuffie, or—or when he had drunk his first bottle of milk, or Aang played pat-a-cake with him or Toph had sat with him in front of his touchy-feely book and told him her own silly story. That sort of stuff made him feel really… well, happy. Like floating on a cloud happy. Even when Sokka held out a diaper, when he had not-quite-made-it one too many times, when Sokka told him softly and sweetly to lie down so he could be diapered up – it, it felt really nice, like puzzle pieces clicking neatly together. But this was the final piece of the puzzle… and he wasn't sure he wanted to make it fit.

"You're all wriggly!" Sokka shrugged, arms folding firmly (pointedly ignoring how Zuko stepped all over his toes in an attempt to get himself to stand still for a few minutes) "…it's going to happen eventually. Come on, Zuko, everybody does it. It's not a big deal."

Zuko shivered. "…Katara doesn't." he pointed out. "Nor Aang, nor Toph, nor, umm, _Uncle_ , nor Appa. And you're not right now, either!" 

"Okay well, one, I don't think they make diapers for flying bison. And two, you know I wear and use 'em." He blushed a little, "…but not when I'm big, just like you."

The thought of a flying bison in a diaper was, admittedly, quite funny. Zuko couldn't help but think Appa wouldn't like it very much. A little giggle burst free, shaking all over his body, and then a few more, but of course the more he giggled the more the tickles built up in his belly and made him feel like he was going to wet himself. His giggles wilted into whimpers and he stomped harder, pressing against his diapered front. "…stop it!" he complained because of course, it was Sokka's fault that he was going to have an accident. 

Sokka shrugged, holding his hands up in defeat. "Okay, you're a big boy, you hold it." He couldn't force Zuko into using his diapers, after all, and he shouldn’t even try. Or… or could he? He squinted. Hmm.  
~

"Hey, Zuko. Come here, let's play with your blocks?" Sokka asked. He'd moved upstairs when Zuko did and was sat, near enough spreadeagled, against but not on the sofa. He patted the space in front of him, invitingly, and smiled as Zuko hesitated and then crawled forward to sit where he had pointed. He squirmed in place, crinkling gently with even the slightest movement, and even as he pressed himself tightly against Sokka, Sokka could feel how tense he was. It was a sensation that sort of spread up his legs and right up to his stiff little shoulders, this building little tremble. But for a moment Sokka ignored it, placing the blocks in front of Zuko. "Let's build a tower!" he kept his voice animated, made it as Little as he possibly could without plunging into Littlespace himself, beaming. 

It worked because Zuko offered him a papery little smile. Sure he wriggled on his butt and had one hand pressed tight between his legs, but he was happy to play. "Yeah! A really tall one!" he enthused. 

"Oh," Sokka scoffed, "only the tallest!" 

Zuko fell quiet – building blocks required the utmost level of concentration, you see? – and messily began to pile the wooden cubes atop one another. Sokka watched him, offering a 'wow, you're a really good builder!' or an, 'uh oh, it's wobbling', but waited – waited until Zuko had to lean high on his knees to get more blocks on his tower, until he tugged his knees in tighter and curled up against the tickles in his middle to sit him back again, hugging him gently around the middle, with _ju-u-ust_ the right amount of pressure… moving a block here, a block there, just so he didn't look too suspicious…

Zuko squeaked in discomfort, wriggling as he was squeezed, even if it was light – an uncomfortable spark shot through his belly, making him want to bend at the waist. "Wh- what are you doing?" he craned his neck to look up at Sokka, voice tight and small, frowning. 

Sokka shrugged. "…building a tower with you?" he smiled sweetly. 

Zuko twisted on the spot, watching Sokka place a block on their already high tower; it wobbled, crashed to the floor in a blink. Usually he found this hysterical – today it made him feel grumpy. Huffing, he began to build it up again. One, two, three…

Sokka squeezed him again. Lightly. This time he knew it worked because the front of Zuko's diaper got just the tiniest bit warm, and he went all still and made a funny little, 'mmm' noise, like a little high-pitched squeak; he smiled to himself, pleased, but Zuko tensed. 

"…stop it!" Zuko pleaded, tugging weakly at Sokka's arms even though Sokka was stronger than him and he knew he would lose. His ‘s’ was stammered, forced out. "I- I don't... I don't want to do it!"  
He looked at Sokka and his eyes were gleaming with new tears. 

It almost made Sokka stop. Almost.   
"You gotta do it," Sokka decided, urgent, perhaps childlike in his reasoning. ‘Sides, what happened if he had an accident while he was asleep? That was no different.  
"Just once. And- and if you don't like it, it's okay, and- and you never have to do it again. But you won't know until you try it out."

Zuko sniffled, squirming. The front of his diaper wasn't quite wet, but it was still damp and cold and uncomfortable feeling against his skin; although nowhere near as cold and wet and heavy as the feeling of wet pyjamas or sheets. Sokka said he had to try it like it was really easy, but- but it wasn't easy, not when he had been told for the last thirteen years to not wet himself, that it was yucky and gross. Not to mention that after… you know, going, even just a little bit - now he really, really needed to!  
He rubbed his eyes, rocking on his bottom. "It's gross," he said, his throat tight in a knot like he was about to start crying. "I don't _hafta_."

"…you look like you really gotta, though," Sokka pointed out sympathetically. "Just—just play with your blocks, it'll just… happen," he smiled as soothingly as he could. He couldn't really remember much about when he had first started using his diapers. It had just kinda happened and everyone had rolled with it. 

Zuko whimpered, nibbling at his thumb. He picked up his blocks again, determinedly plopping them on top of one another with hard thwacks. Sokka shifted Zuko about like he was a doll he was playing with; placing him squarely on his lap, legs a little more spread, arms still pressed comfortably firm around his waist-- and by then he was leaking a little more steadily, a generous flush of warmth against the front of the diaper. The design on the front faded slowly-and-steadily to yellow (those poor sky bison!) – Zuko shivered, relief uncurling at the bottom of his spine. His toes twitched. "S- stop it," he murmured under his breath, squirming and stilling in place, "S- stop it, stop it…" His voice was so slow it was almost velveteen, so slow and so quiet.

(…was he talking to Sokka, or talking to himself?)

"I'm not doing anything," Sokka giggled, "I'm just playing blocks," but Zuko wasn't listening. 

“Stop it…” Zuko said, the fourth time, and then he was still, and he was soaking his diaper without really thinking about it other than how good it felt, relishing the sensation. He still had a block in his hand, the other pressed flat against the floor, all flushed red cheeks as the slow-and-steady stream got a little heavier, the hissing louder, his little whimpers transformed to barely-there sort of pants instead. Sokka wasn't sure, but he thought he heard an 'ahh' in there, too. 

"…see, I told you you'd do it," Sokka crooned, a little smug - and Zuko was like butter in his hands; the hissing slowly subsided and Zuko, shivering, caught his breath again. His toes were bunched tight against the floor in bliss, so slowly he uncurled them, and squirmed in what was now his rather wet diaper. He looked down at his waist almost expecting to see a puddle spread out beneath him – but there was nothing, nothing but the poofy diaper on his waist.   
Tentatively he poked at the front, where the wetness indicator had faded. He was squishy and soggy. It didn't feel great but- but there was no mess, no puddle, no clothes to clean up, and amazingly, the inside of his diaper was still warm, not all cold and claggy like it was whenever he wet the bed. He blushed, looking up at Sokka with a shaky, lazy kind of smile. 

…Until Sokka held his arms out and uttered the immortal words

"I think you need a change…?"

"No!" Zuko squeaked, face flooding. "No, I- I don't!" – as if Sokka hadn't seen him use it not even five minutes ago or the fact that his wet diaper was still on display. He brought his hands defensively to his crotch to cover himself – then reconsidered, getting up, running. 

"Zuko!" Sokka said in surprise. He watched him run off (well, it was more like a waddle given the state of his diaper) but made no move to chase after him. "I mean if you want everyone else to know about your wet diaper, then…"

Zuko stopped. He turned on the spot in an instant. Made his way back. Sokka smiled to himself.   
~

"Well?" said Sokka. "What do you think?"

Zuko hesitated, wiggling against the hard wood floor. His diaper crinkled with him, powdery and clean. He sort of wished he had a changing mat to lie on, though; his diaper was thick but he could still feel the wood of the floor against his bottom. It hurt. "Okay," he said slowly. It didn't feel as gross as he had first thought, and there was no mess, and no one was mad at him. 

"You get used to it," Sokka nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looooove fics where person-A coaxes person-B into wetting/peeing, can you tell? Although I think it works best when the person is diapered. Less so if they can still use the toilet. Unless they're shy. :P
> 
> This is the penultimate chapter!


	17. Little Baby Swamp Monster (Old End, New Beginning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of it all, the Jasmine Dragon tea shop has a Little corner.

Uncle closed the door of the Jasmine Dragon, waving a tea towel in place of goodbye as the last of the wrinkles shuffled out, warm bellied.  
The tea shop had proved incredibly popular amongst Ba Sing Se's elderly community at least – Zuko swore he saw duplicates of his Uncle filing in and out of the tea shop all afternoon. It wasn't too bad. Some of their regulars were kind and pretty interesting. There was Mr Miyake with his paper cranes, Miss Huang who demanded a lotus flower on her saucer every afternoon twelve-on-the-dot – or that one guy (Zuko didn't know his name) who had a poofy cloud of white hair hanging over his eyes and requested every single day that you presented your hands in front of him, palm first, for a reading. He would stroke the lines on your hands (paying no mind to the little bubbling giggles and twitches of hand if it tickled!) and tell you your future. How he was able to see through his hair remained a mystery to Zuko.  
"What a good day!" Uncle smiled. Zuko mumbled in return, picking at some crumbs on the table. Sure it was fun – but sometimes Zuko wished somebody his age would turn up, or- or even his Classification. As it was the only Little Zuko hung out with was Sokka.

Uncle cocked his head thoughtfully but let the conversation drop. "…I will make you and your friends' dinner soon, small one," he smiled but was preoccupied somehow. "You go and play."

Zuko nodded. He didn't need telling twice to go hurrying upstairs to his quarters. 

"…will you send Sokka to see me?" 

Zuko shrugged. He nodded.  
~

"What are you doing?"

Sokka was sat at one of the tables in the corner of the tea shop, a big cream piece of cloth spread out in front of him - dripping off the corners. It was almost like a tablecloth except Sokka had giant jamjars of paint strewn around him – bright red like fire, the deepest under-the-sea sort of blue, swampy Earthbender green. He was leaned over the tablecloth, tongue poked out just-so between his teeth in concentration, and did not look once at Zuko although he had heard him speak. He jammed the bushy end of his paintbrush into the blue jamjar, making a gloopy, glistening stroke in the topmost corner. "Painting," he said at long last, eyeing up the spine of his 'L' and wondering if it was too wonky. "Uncle Iroh told me to!"

…Uncle Iroh had asked Sokka? Zuko frowned, feeling something uncomfortably sour flare in his stomach, something like jealousy. "Oh," said Zuko very softly, wishing he had something special to do, "I wanna paint, too!"

"But I'm painting," said Sokka, busying himself with the swirliest rainbow he could manage, arching all thick red and yellow and blue in the other corner of the cloth, as if- as if painting was a one-person sort of thing. 

Zuko watched him for a moment, as the colours blurred into one another. His eyes smarted a bit, red-hot, but he didn't cry. "What are you painting?"

"I don't know," said Sokka distractedly, sucking the end of his paintbrush instead of his pacifier, "It's a surprise!" It _was_ a surprise - that was what Uncle Iroh had said, anyway – nothing other than to colour in and make it look pretty. 

"…Okay," mumbled Zuko, sliding off of his chair. He knew when he wasn't wanted. 

Iroh surveyed the ongoings of the teashop from a little way away, in between brewing tea, mopping spills, and cleaning the used teacups. He allowed himself exactly one hour of lunch break each day, at one-thirty - marked out by a little two-footed sign that sat patiently on the front desk until his lunch break was over. He slid it into place twenty minutes shy of one thirty upon noticing his nephew moping and shuffling over the store floor. "Whatever is the matter, firefly?" he crooned (although thought it obvious what was the matter), ushering Zuko by the shoulders into a chair.

"…Nothing," Zuko muttered, hunching his shoulders overprotectively and keeping his gaze to the table, away from his uncle's all-knowing gaze. He looked at the wood on the table, little beige rings worn into the surface from drink after drink. He traced one circle slowly with the tip of his finger – wondering what drink had sat there. Perhaps a hot cocoa, or maybe a super milky tea the way he liked it?

Iroh nodded. He sat, and Zuko sat, and it was quiet.  
"Sokka is doing a very good job over there, isn't he?" Iroh pried gently when he felt enough time had passed; indicating Sokka, lost in his picture. Gone were the days of the Avatar tugging Zuko into a sour mood; who would've guessed that now all it took was some painting?

"I guess," Zuko sulked, hugging himself. "I coulda done a betterer—better—job than Sokka, though. But it's okay if you picked Sokka, 'cause- cause he likes painting," He tugged at his ear. 

"I didn't pick you to paint for me because I have a special job for you, little one," Iroh smiled, pressing his hands together. 

Zuko looked up. His eyes were glimmering a little. A _special_ job? Just for him? "What kinda job?" he sniffed.

Iroh reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out what looked to be a sheet of paper and a decently sized notebook - the same sort that Zuko saw Uncle write all the orders on. He pressed the creases out of the paper between the palms of his hands before flapping the sheet out to reveal…

"Stickers!" Zuko gasped, a slowly happy smile spreading across his face. Glimmering puffy stickers, _oh_ \- all sorts of them! Big slithering sea-dragons, glittery red koi fish, panda cubs nibbling bamboo sticks, pastel Dango-skewers shaped like puppies or dumplings with tiny smiley faces. He traced each one, teasing away the silver glitter backing. 

"Stickers!" Iroh affirmed with a smile. "I want you to have more Little ones to play with, Zuko," he explained softly. "I thought maybe stickers would help. If we give them out to all the little ones, you see? I need you to snip all these stickers into squares," he fished for a pair of scissors in his overalls, snipped one sticker – a winking panda cub – into a perfect tiny square, slid it across the table to Zuko. "and I will give them away with everybody's drinks."

"…what about the book?" Zuko studied his uncle's face with interest as he spoke but, frowning, slapped the notebook with the palm of his hand. 

"I couldn't very well give out stickers without letting you start your own collection now, could I, firefly?" Iroh smiled. He peeled the backing away from the square, flicked the curled paper across the table, and pressed the panda cub with his thumb, sticking it firmly against the first crisply clean page of the notebook. 

Zuko watched with a low gasp of awe, shifting excitedly in his seat. "Okay, Uncle!" he chirped, "I'll do a, a-" he was nodding rapidly, "-good job!"

Iroh hummed. He didn't doubt that. Squeezing Zuko's shoulder, Iroh rose from his chair and let Zuko get to work; Zuko took no more encouragement.  
He pinched each sticker between thumb and forefinger – first a turtleduck, then a dragonfly, then a fat little piggy eating a mochi ball – and slowly, carefully, snipped them into squares. But, mmmh, the turtleduck with its big puffy wings and the dragonfly with his emerald stone body – they would look much better in his collection, wouldn't they?... Furtively he glanced around the teashop. It always quietened when Uncle declared he was on lunch, and- and the few customers that were nearby said nothing. There was Miss Huang, chasing lotus flower petals around her cup with her teaspoon, there was Miss Naoko, spooning two sugar lumps into her tea. Sokka was still sitting at his table humming and painting, the cloth now patterned with wet painted words that Zuko couldn't quite make out – and Uncle Iroh was busy in the kitchen, preparing for the afternoon influx of orders.  
So- so nobody was going to know if, _say_ , he- he took one for his collection? Or maybe two… perhaps- perhaps even three? Humming decisively, Zuko studded the page of his notebook with the weeny puffy stickers until it was covered entirely – a very fine start to his collection indeed. 

In the kitchenette, Iroh smiled to himself. He had expected nothing less. It was just as well he'd gotten an entire ream of stickers, then, wasn't it?  
~

Sokka was a good boy. He looked after Zuko incredibly well given the circumstances, even helped around the teashop now and then, and now the painting. He was still chugging away once Iroh had shut up shop for the evening and taken the time to tuck Zuko tightly into bed. Now, though, it was obvious he was flagging. His paintbrush strokes were slowing; his head jerked forward, his eyelids grew heavy, closing and snapping again as he wobbled on that crumbling precipice between sleep and wake.  
"Come now," Iroh whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "I think it's long past your bedtime, small one, is it not?" There was the smallest splinter of a chuckle to his voice. 

"But I'm not…" Sokka whined, his head lolling and stilling as a yawn overtook him, eating up his face. "S'not finished!"

"…I think you did a fine job," Iroh smiled; it made something puddle in Sokka's tummy. He handed Sokka his pacifier and sent him on his way, upstairs, to rest with Zuko.

When they awoke in the morning, there, stretched across one corner of the teashop, was Sokka's banner. "LITTLE'S CORNER", it said, in wobbly multicoloured letters, surrounded by drippy rainbows where the colours had run into one another, growlingly happy polar bears, smiley faces, tiny stick figures holding hands. Iroh had pushed two of the tables together in front of the banner; there, waiting, was a colouring book and a box of crayons, matchstick-box-sized, red and yellow and blue (woe betide you if you wanted to colour a tree). It was a meagre offering that, admittedly, even Zuko would have stuck his nose up at, but all Uncle Iroh ever said in response was, 'patience, firefly!'.  
And so Zuko was patient for one day.  
Then two days.  
Then three days, and slowly the Little corner really did start looking like a Little corner. The floor beneath the tables was soft and squashy, giant foam jigsaw pieces in muted pastel colours. There were big squashy beanbags and an impressively tall bookcase that slowly stuffed itself with children's stories; fat lift-the-flap books, skinny fairytales – or those touchy-feely stories, the same type that Zuko had. On the bookcase, high up, was a teensy weensy zen garden, a tray filled with the thinnest whitest sand. Zuko liked to dip his fingertips in the sand, swirl funny little patterns, dot all the stones around in place. Where Uncle had magicked everything up from was something Zuko couldn't fathom; it was as though something new appeared out of thin air when he woke up in the morning. Getting Littles and children to visit was taking a little longer; yet word spread, slowly and steadily.  
~

"I have this sticker already, you can have it!"

Zuko peered with interest over the counter, smiling shyly. "Thank you," he whispered, grinning impishly, picking the sticker up with the tip of a finger. It was a Maneki Neko, bright red. "Wait, lemme- we can- we can do swapsies!" 

The girl nodded excitedly. Her hair was scraped back into buns, two atop her head, that made her look like she had bear cub ears. She had a hairband with two stars on it. She called it a deelybopper. Which was a silly name, don't you think?

"…You can have, um, this one- and this one- and this one too," said Zuko, spreading his notebook flat out across the table in the Little corner, showing her the little strips; two matryoshka dolls, red and blue, stood next to one another; a ladybird with its wings outstretched; a holographic chameleon that changed colour when the sunlight hit it.

"Hey, baby steps n' star features!" cut in Toph while Zuko and his friend covered themselves in stickers - her grin razor-sharp but not unkind. "It's my turn to read a story today!"

Zuko blinked. He didn't think Toph would like to read stories. He didn't have her marked out as a Little, either. "Um," he squeaked, "Okay, but not the- not the turtleduck one." He squirmed, whispering. "I like that one best." He wanted that one as his bedtime story. 

"No, I'm gonna read it to _you_!" Toph said, holding out the touchy-feely book. She grinned. "Toph style."  
~

Cross-legged on the floor, Zuko squeezed Mr Duckie in his arms. It was only right, he supposed, that Mr Duckie was there to hear a story where he had the starring role. Mr Duckie had said he was very excited about the whole thing. There were more Littles here now. The little girl, from earlier, splayed out on the floor next to him, and a little boy with the gappiest smile and the freckliest face and the reddest hair, two little twins too – and Sokka, except Sokka wasn't feeling so Little right now, but Zuko had begged him and begged him and so he had sunk on the floor with the littlies, legs crossed in on one another, waiting patiently. 

"So!" Announced Toph, slamming the book down in front of them. "So, there's a turtleduck, and it's just a baby. Can't fly. Still learning. Still in its little scratchy nest with its mom and dad," She ran her fingers over the page, once she was sure everyone had taken a look at the picture. The duck felt sorta scaley. "Aaaand… one day it, uh, it falls out of the tree—"  
(a gasp wobbled around the group)  
"—and lands, _kersplat_ , in a big yucky mud-puddle!"  
(another gasp, feathered with giggles now. Toph turned the page, ran her hands across it, let everybody else have a look.) "…Oh no! So he climbs outta the mud puddle and he, uh, wants to find his mommy. So he waddles up and down the field. Cheeping for his mommy. He—" she turned the page again, "—looks in the long grass, and all the long grass sticks to his feathers, so now he looks like a little baby swamp monster – and mommy isn't there, either!"

Zuko listened intently to the story, giggling a little, holding onto his stuffed animal tightly. He squirmed maybe a bit, but it wasn't important. 

"…So little ducky decides to hop on all the lilypads in the duck pond, but his mom isn't there, and his feathers get all slimy instead. Yuck!" Toph blew a raspberry, earned a round of (spitty and gross) raspberries in return.

Zuko listened as Little Ducky fell in the flowerbed, hid in a log, and had a wasp waggle its bottom in his face (ouch!) - and by then, he knew the story was nearly at the end. Somewhere along the way, he had wet his diaper. He didn't mean to, it had just kinda… happened, and now as he shifted, the seat of his diaper was sort of warm and gross. He whimpered to himself, biting his lip, fidgeting. It wasn't nice, not when it was nearly-cold. He glanced at Sokka, wiggling. Sokka looked like he was listening to the story. Maybe he wouldn't wanna change him just yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sokka saw Zuko wiggling a little bit. "Are you okay?"

Zuko blushed, stilling, hands in his lap against his soggy diaper.

Sokka's gaze narrowed. "D'you needa change?"  
He didn't give Zuko a chance to confirm or deny, patting his bottom anyway. Zuko squawked, squirming away from his hands, but Sokka knew anyway. "Yes you do!" he said. "Okay, let's go."  
Changes were easy peasy. 

Zuko blushed; the sort that crawled up his neck and into his cheeks. "But the story...!" he whined. 

"I'm sure Toph will read the story to you later!" Sokka shrugged, smiling. "You won't miss out. I promise."  
He had his hand outstretched, gesturing for him to step forward. Zuko hesitated but held his hand, quietly ducking away from storytime with only Sokka and his stuffie for company.  
~

"I thought you said I'd get used to it," Zuko stuck his chin out, kicking at Sokka's outstretched hands. This was diaper change three thousand seven hundred and sixty-five million. Or at least that was what it felt like, and he still hadn't gotten used to it.  
…Okay- well- maybe he had gotten used to it a little bit, but that didn't take away from how boring it was. Meanwhile, everyone else downstairs was still getting a story, and here he was still waiting to be taped up tight.

"It's not my fault you kick and whine!" Sokka sputtered, shrugging. 

"It's boring!" 

"Oh, well I'm sorry your diaper changes aren't _entertaining_ enough!" Sokka rolled his eyes, tugging the diaper up over Zuko's front. "…Where are your toys?"

"If you lemme get up I could go and find them!" he grumbled. 

"I can't let you get up or your diaper will fall off. You wanna be nakey in front of everybody?"

Zuko blushed.  
"Look," Sokka continued, "you have your duckling. Play with him." 

Zuko whined. He sat Mr Duckie on his belly, poking and prodding his little fluffy wings. D'you like diaper changes much, Mr Duckie? he wondered, even though Mr Duckie didn't wear diapers at all. He didn't suppose they made teeny tiny Mr Duckie sized diapers. Wouldn't it be funny if they did?  
"Diaper changes aren't very fun, no," agreed Mr Duckie, because he was a discerning duckling and therefore an expert in such things, "but you don't wanna sit in a wet diaper all the time – 'cause that's yucky, isn't it?"  
Hmm. Zuko supposed Duckie was right. 

"There. All clean!" smiled Sokka. "You can get up now."

Zuko gleamed, jumping to his feet and running away with his duckling tight in his arms. On his way out of the bedroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped. Looking at himself, taking himself in. There he was – with his fresh diaper tugged high on his waist, his t-shirt just barely covering it, his pacifier on a clip (so it was never really too far away), his duckling tight in one fist so he was always ready to go on a new adventure.  
(…' Course, it wasn't always like that. Sometimes he had his hair slicked back so tight it shone and his royal robes heavy on his arms, a full bottle in one hand as he stared down at Sokka tucked tightly in his lap. 

_"…you need to slow down, seriously."_

_"I'm hungry!" Sokka moaned, pulling the bottle from his mouth._

_"You'll get hiccups. Or wind!"_

_Sokka blushed, letting out a teensy 'erp,'. 'Aha!'; Zuko nodded approvingly._ )

Shaking his head, Zuko ran back downstairs, where his Uncle and the rest of his friends were waiting for him and maybe - maybe! – he could nag Toph into reading the story just one more time.  
…Huh. A year ago, who could've guessed that this was where everything would've ended up? The Fire Lord, part-time Little, part-time not?  
Everybody except him, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. This chapter was sort of inspired by my sweet friend (at least the end scene was!) - and sort of inspired by the dear Nonnie in my comments. :P
> 
> I know a lot of you were expecting this to go in a different direction - w/ Azula especially because I SWERVED that big time. And more Zuko & Iroh family cuteness. And we'll see. I have planned all along to write up all the parts that I didn't think would fit into this fic and upload them as a series, and perhaps then I'll delve into Azula's r'ship with Little!Zuko then. Or perhaps not. We'll see. I have always said though... this is just one interpretation, so feel free to write or draw or do whatever you want with this fic - I welcome it :)
> 
> And, thank you, dear commenters. I wouldn't have made this fic without all of you! You make my day, every day. Maybe see you again, soon? 
> 
> \- Star_less  
> xx


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